UNIVERSITY  of 
ILLINOIS  l i ARY 

SOOKoMw 


• "''.4'  WiQ 


(i  Choose  Your  Own  Course,  and  Prove  Where  You  Stand.” 


Dick  Prescott’s  First 
Year  at  West  Point 


OR 

Two  Chums  in  the  Cadet  Gray 

By 

H.  IRVING  HANCOCK 
Illustrated 


THE  SAALFIELD  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
Akron,  Ohio  New  York 


Copyright  MCMX 

By  THE  SAALFIELD  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


Printer  in  thk 
United  States  of  \mbwca 


CONTENTS 


^CHAPTER 

L “Two  Tint  Specks  op  Nothing'  • 

II,  Thb  Tyranny  op  the  Cadet  Corporal.  , ' ^ 
m-  Thk  “Lucky’*  Ones  Take  Up  the  New  Life 
IV.  Greg's  Case  op  “Blues”.  .............. 

V.  Candidate  Dodge  Is  Critical 

VI.  In  the  Hands  op  the  Yeaeuns  Hazers  ...... 

VII.  A Sudden  Grind  at  Math.  ...... 

VIII.  Dick  Bones  Trouble,  !.*!*!.*.*!**!””] 

IX.  Plebe  Prescott’s  Fiest  Fight.  , 

X.  The  “Beast”  Who  Scored.  . ' * ‘ ’ " * ' ’ ’ 
XI.  How  Cadet  Dodge  Held  Post  Number  Three." 
vIL  Prescott  Gets  Number  Three  o t 
XII L The  Sentry  Makes  a Capture 

XIV,  Poor  Greg  Can’t  Explain 

XV.  Greg  Overhears  a Pretty  Girl’s  Tribute,. 
XVI  Taps  Sounds  on  Summer. 

XVII  Mr  Dodge  Goes  Canvassing 

XV11L  The  Plebe  Class  Chooses  Its  President.]]!] 
XIX.  The  Prowler  in  Quarters. 

XX.  Conclusion  


Pag® 

. • „ 7 

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a . c 108 

.o  114 

o . .120 

.■ « . 142 
• . 155 

. <167 
► . .176 
...183 

..189 

o.2Q3 

-207 


Dick  Prescott’s  First  Year  at 
West  Point 


CHAPTER  I 


H 


“two  tiny  specks  of  nothing” 

OW  do  you  feel,  Dick?  As  spruce  as 


you  did  an  hour  ago?” 


Candidate  Greg  Holmes  put  the 
question  with  a half-nervous  laugh.  He  spoke 
in  a whisper,  too,  as  if  to  keep  his  agitation  from 
reaching  the  notice  of  any  of  the  score  or  more 
of  other  young  men  in  the  room  of  Mr.  Ward, 
the  aged  notary  at  West  Point. 

“I’ll  he  glad  when  I see  some  daylight 
through  the  proceedings,”  Dick  Prescott  whis- 
pered in  answer. 

“I’m  glad  they  allow  us  to  talk  here  in  un- 
dertones,” pursued  Greg. 

“If  we  weren’t  allowed  to  do  so,  some  of  us 
would  go  suddenly  crazy,  utter  a whoop  and 
spring  through  one  of  the  windows,”  grinned 
Dick. 

For  the  tenth  time  he  thrust  his  hands  into 


7 


8 DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


his  pockets — then  as  quickly  drew  them  out 
again. 

All  of  the  young  men  now  gathered  in  the 
room  were  candidates  for  cadetships  at  West 
Point;  candidates  who  had  been  appointed  by 
the  Congressmen  or  Senators  of  their  home  dis- 
tricts or  states,  and  who  must  now  pass  satis- 
factory physical  and  mental  examinations,  after 
which  they  would  be  enrolled  as  cadets  in  the 
United  States  Military  Academy.  Those  of  the 
cadets  who  thus  passed  the  preliminary  exam- 
inations, and  who  maintained  good  health  and 
good  standing  in  their  classes  during  the  fol- 
lowing four  years  and  three  months  would  then 
be  graduated  from  the  Military  Academy  and 
forthwith  be  appointed  second  lieutenants  in  the 
Regular  Army  of  the  United  States. 

Hived  in  this  room,  awaiting  their  turn,  a 
spirit  of  awe  had  gripped  all  these  nervous 
young  men. 

Some  of  them  dreaded  a failure  in  the  com- 
ing bodily  tests  before  the  keen-eyed,  impartial 
surgeons  of  the  United  States  Army. 

Probably  half  of  the  boys  in  the  room  feared: 
that  they  would  fail  in  the  academic  exam- 
inations. 

Boys?  Some  of  the  candidates  didn’t  look  the 
part.  They  had  the  physiques  and  general  ap- 
pearance, many  of  them,  of  men;  for  a candi- 


AT  WEST  POINT 


9 


date  maj  be  anywhere  between  the  ages  of  seven- 
teen and  twenty-two  years  of  age. 

From  all  over  the  country  they  came.  When 
the  new,  or  plebe  class  should  finally  be  as- 
sembled and  put  to  work,  that  class  would  repre- 
sent practically  every  state  in  the  Union. 

Readers  of  a former  series  of  books,  “The 
High  School  Boys  Series,”  will  not  need  to 
again  be  introduced  to  Dick  Prescott  and  Greg 
Holmes.  Such  readers  will  well  remember  these 
two  manly  young  Americans  as  members  of  that 
famous  sextette,  “Dick  & Co.,”  famous  in  the 
annals  of  the  good  old  Gridley  High  School. 

Nor  will  such  readers  need  to  be  told  how 
Dick  won,  over  the  heads  of  forty  competitors, 
the  nomination  of  Congressman  Spokes,  the  boy 
carrying  all  before  him  in  a rigid  competitive 
examination  at  the  Gridley  High  School.  The 
same  readers  will  remember  how  Greg  Holmes 
secured  his  own  nomination  from  Senator 
Frayne.  This  was  all  related  in  the  closing 
volume  of  the  High  School  Series,  “The  High 
School  Captain  of  the  Team.” 

Our  former  readers  will  also  recall  that  Dave 
Darrin  and  Dan  Dalzell  “ran  away”  with  the 
nominations  for  cadetships  at  Annapolis,  while 
Tom  Reade  and  Harry  Hazelton,  the  last  of 
famous  Dick  & Co.,  went  West  seeking  their 
careers  as  young  engineers. 


10  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


To  be  a cadet  at  West  Point,  and  then  to 
blossom  out  as  an  officer  in  the  Regular  Army 
— this  had  long  been  Dick’s  fondest  hope.  Greg, 
too,  had  caught  the  Army  fever,  and  now  suf- 
fered from  it  as  severely  as  Dick  Prescott  him- 
self. 

And  now,  at  what  seemed  like  the  critical 
moment,  this  tedious  waiting  was  almost  mad- 
dening. 

Before  Mr.  Ward’s  desk  stood  a lonely  looking 
young  man,  red  faced  and  fidgeting  as  though  he 
were  going  through  a fearful  ordeal. 

“What  on  earth  can  they  be  doing  to  that 
fellow?”  wondered  Greg,  in  a barely  audible 
undertone.  “That  fine-looking  old  gentleman 
can’t  be  hazing  a cadet?” 

“No;  but  I wonder  what  the  ordeal  is,”  Dick 
whispered  back.  “I  haven’t  seen  a fellow  look 
comfortable  through  it  yet.” 

“Mr.  Prescott!” 

Dick  started  to  his  feet  so  suddenly  that  his 
right  almost  tripped  over  his  left. 

One  of  the  other  candidates  near  by  tittered. 
That  caused  Dick’s  face  to  turn  redder  than 
ever. 

Mr.  Ward,  however,  looked  up  at  the  boy  with 
a kindly  smile. 

“State  your  full  name,  Mr.  Prescott.” 

Dick  did  so. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


11 


“When  and  where  born?  Give  date  and 
place.  ’ ’ 

By  this  time  Dick  was  beginning  to  find  his 
voice.  The  excess  of  color  began  to  recede  from 
his  face.  He  had  already,  almost  unconsciously, 
passed  over  the  sealed  envelope  which  he  had 
received  from  the  adjutant  in  a room  on  the 
same  floor  at  headquarters. 

Prescott  was  quickly  breathing  at  his  ease. 
He  discovered  that  the  entire  ordeal  consisted 
of  giving  his  family  history,  with  dates. 

Then  he  stepped  back.  Another  name  was 
called. 

“Don’t  let  that  rattle  you  a bit,  Greg,”  whis- 
pered Dick,  when  he  had  dropped  back  into  his 
seat  beside  his  chum.  “Mr.  Ward  doesn’t  do 
anything  but  take  your  pedigree.” 

“Mr.  Holmes!” 

Greg  got  xip  with  nearly  all  of  his  self-pos- 
session about  him.  He  was  just  returning  to 
sit  by  his  chum  when  the  nattiest,  sprucest-look- 
ing  soldier  imaginable,  wearing  the  olive-drab 
fatigue  uniform  of  the  Army  and  overcoat  to 
match,  stepped  into  the  room. 

“The  surgeons  have  directed  me  to  bring 
down  all  the  candidates  who  are  through  here,” 
the  orderly  announced.  “Follow  me  to  the  side- 
walk, where  you  will  fall  in  loosely,  by  twos,  and 
follow  me  to  the  cadet  hospital.” 


12  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


Among  those  of  the  candidates  who  had  fin- 
ished giving  their  pedigrees  there  was  a rush 
that  would  put  a spectator  in  mind  almost  of 
a football  scrimmage.  It  represented  merely  the 
feverish  anxiety  of  these  young  men  to  get 
through  with  the  next  stage  in  their  awe-filled 
day. 

‘ 4 There  are  some  marching  down  with  us  who 
won’t  he  marching  with  us  to  the  next  place,  I 
am  afraid,”  whispered  Holmes. 

“I  imagine  so,”  whispered  Dick,  with  a nod. 

“Say,”  murmured  Greg,  his  cheek  suddenly 
blanching,  “just  how  much  chest  expansion  do 
the  surgeons  demand  in  the  case  of  a fellow 
standing  five-seven  in  his  stocking  feet?” 

There  was  a note  almost  of  panic  in  Greg’s 
voice. 

“Cheer  up,  Greg!”  urged  Dick,  whose  own 
face  was  again  flushing.  “You’ve  got  chest 
expansion  enough  for  a heavy-weight  prize 
fighter.  ’ ’ 

“You  must  have  the  same,  then.  Is  that 
so?”  demanded  Holmes.  “What  makes  your 
face  so  red?” 

“Just  wondering,”  admitted  Prescott,  in  a 
low  voice,  “whether  I ever  contracted  any  symp- 
toms of  football-player’s  heart.” 

“Bosh!”  muttered  Greg.  “I  never  heard  of 
.any  such  disease.” 


AT  WEST  POINT 


13 


“I  never  did  either,”  Dick  fidgeted.  “But 
in  the  hour  I’ve  been  at  West  Point  I’ve  con- 
cluded that  people  here  know  a heap  of  things 
that  aren’t  even  guessed  at  in  the  outside 
world.” 

“O-o-o-h!  Say!  Look!”  murmured  Greg  in 
deep  awe  and  admiring  wonder.  “They  must 
be  cadets!” 

Eight  young  men  in  gray,  marshaled  by  a 
section  marcher,  went  swinging  up  the  road  with 
a marching  rhythm  so  perfect  that  it  was  like 
music. 

Each  of  these  young  men  was  clad  in  flawless 
gray,  with  black  stripes  and  facings.  Each 
young  man  wore  his  cadet  fatigue  cap  at  an 
exact  angle.  The  long,  caped  gray  overcoats 
looked  as  though  they  had  been  melted  to  the 
forms  of  their  wearers. 

No  wonder  Greg  Holmes  gave  that  involun- 
tary gasp.  He  was  having  his  first  view  of  a 
small  squad  of  real  cadets. 

Some  of  the  candidate^  on  the  other  side- 
walk so  far  forgot  themselVes  as  to  halt  and  all 
but  stare  at  the  natty  young  marching  men 
opposite. 

Then,  all  in  an  instant,  the  section  mareher 
and  his  section  had  gone  by. 

“Don’t  anyone  halt,  please,”  cautioned  the 
soldier  orderly.  “Keep  your  places  in  the  line, 


14  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


young  gentlemen,  and  keep  moving  right 
along.  ’ ’ 

So  they  reached  the  cadet  hospital.  The  or- 
derly marched  them  into  a spacious,  almost  bare 
room  on  the  ground  floor  and  announced: 

“I  will  report  to  the  surgeon.  Young  gentle- 
men, wait  until  you  are  called.” 

“I  wish  I could  carry  myself  and  step  the 
way  that  fellow  does,”  whispered  Dick,  his  ad- 
miring gaze  following  the  retreating  orderly. 

“Well,  that’s  what  we’ve  come  here  to  learn,” 
replied  Greg.  “That  is,  if  we  get  by  the  doc- 
tors— and  then  the  beastly  academic  grind.” 
Now,  to  keep  his  mind  occupied,  Dick  Pres- 
cott fell  to  observing,  covertly,  the  other  candi- 
dates. 

These  were  of  all  sorts  and  sizes.  They  rep- 
resented all  parts  of  the  United  States  and  every 
walk  in  social  life.  Out  of  the  group  were  two 
or  three  who,  judging  by  their  clothing,  might 
have  been  sons  of  washerwomen.  There  were 
other  youngsters  whose  general  appearance  and 
bearing  seemed  to  proclaim  that  they  came  from 
homes  of  wealth.  But  the  majority  of  the 
young  men  appeared  to  have  come  from  the  same 
walk  in  life  as  did  Dick  and  Greg. 

Our  two  young  friends  were  by  no  means  the 
most  smartly  nor  the  most  correctly  attired 
young  men  there.  On  their  way  to  New  York 


AT  WEST  POINT 


15 


Prescott  and  Holmes  had  discovered,  by  taking 
mental  notes  of  the  other  male  passengers  on  the 
train,  that  these  two  Gridley  boys  had  missed 
something  from  the  most  correct  styles  then  pre- 
vailing in  the  larger  cities. 

Dick  and  Greg  were  both  solidly  and  substan- 
tially attired,  yet  there  was  an  indefinable  some- 
thing about  them  which  proclaimed  them  to  be 
young  men  from  one  of  the  smaller  cities  of 
the  United  States. 

“I  can  see  those  medical  big- wigs  pawing  me 
over  now,”  shivered  Greg.  “I  suppose,  at  a 
place  as  wonderful  and  as  learned  as  West 
Point,  the  doctors  are  all  fussy  old  men,  with 
their  gold-rimmed  spectacles  and  shiny  frock 
coats.” 

“Wait  and  see,”  advised  Dick,  trying  to  get 
a grip  on  himself  to  control  his  nervousness. 

Another  door  opened,  to  admit  a dandified  and 
very  smart-looking  young  officer,  apparently 
about  twenty-five  years  of  age. 

“You’re  all  ready,  young  gentlemen?”  he 
asked  smilingly. 

“We’re  waiting  for  the  doctor,”  replied  Greg, 
who  was  close  to  the  door  by  which  the  officer 
had  entered. 

‘ ‘ I am  one  of  the  surgeons,  ’ ’ replied  the  young 
officer  pleasantly. 

“Gee  whiz!”  remarked  one  raw-boned  youth, 


16  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


in  what  was  meant  to  he  a confidential  whisper, 
but  which  rose  to  a pitch  that  carried  it  around 
the  room.  “Say,  he  doesn’t  look  much  like  our 
old  saw-bones  doc  down  home  way!” 

The  surgeon  was  followed  by  a smart-looking 
soldier  of  the  hospital  corps,  who  started  to  close 
the  shades  of  the  room. 

“You  have  all  been  to  the  treasurer’s  office 
and  deposited  your  funds?”  asked  the  young 
surgeon,  turning  again.  This  time  his  question 
appeared  to  be  addressed  to  Dick  more  par- 
ticularly than  to  anyone  else. 

“Why,  no,  sir,”  Prescott  replied.  “I  have  all 
my  money  in  my  pocket  yet.” 

“Orderly!”  spoke  the  surgeon  to  his  own  man 
of  the  hospital  corps,  who  wheeled,  brought  his 
heels  together  and  stood  at  attention.  “Bring 
in  that  orderly  who  conducted  the  young  gentle- 
men here.” 

“Yes,  sir,”  replied  the  hospital  orderly,  wheel- 
ing about  and  vanishing  from  the  room.  He  was 
back  again  in  a moment  with  the  soldier  who  had 
brought  in  this  batch  of  candidates  without  in- 
terviewing the  treasurer. 

“Orderly,”  spoke  the  surgeon,  “you  have 
overlooked  one  part  of  your  instructions.  You 
did  not  take  these  candidates  to  the  treasurer’s 
office.” 

“No,  sir.” 


AT  WEST  POINT 


17 


“Do  so  now.  Then  conduct  the  candidates 
back  here.” 

“Very  good,  sir.” 

Signing  to  the  candidates  to  rise  and  follow 
him  outside,  the  orderly  himself  led  the  way. 

“Say,  that  was  neatly  done.  No  calling  the 
man  down;  no  bluster,”  whispered  Greg  as  the 
candidates  again  walked  along  the  sidewalk. 

“It’s  the  Army  way,  I take  it,”  murmured 
Dick. 

This  time  the  orderly  marched  his  awkward 
squad  straight  to  the  cadet  store  and  into  the 
treasurer’s  office. 

‘ ‘ O-o-o-h ! ’ ’ groaned  Greg  in  an  undertone. 

“What’s  the  matter?”  demanded  Dick  in  a 
cautious  whisper. 

“This  delay  and  killing  suspense  before  we 
get  before  the  doctors.  I’ll  bet  my  fever  has 
gone  up  above  one  hundred  and  three  degrees ! ’ ’ 

“Form  in  line,  and  each  one  of  you  turn  in 
all  his  money,”  directed  the  treasurer  crisply. 

Each  candidate  was  required  to  deposit  with 
the  treasurer  the  sum  of  one  hundred  dollars. 
In  the  event  that  the  candidate  “passed”  suc- 
cessfully to  enrollment  in  the  cadet  corps,  then 
this  money  was  to  be  applied  to  the  purchase  of 
things  necessary  for  the  new  cadet  to  have.  In 
ease  the  candidate  did  not  pass  he  would  receive 
his  hundred  dollars  back  again — enough,  in 


18  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


almost  any  case,  to  take  the  young  man  safely 
back  to  his  home. 

The  first  three  men  to  step  before  the  treas- 
urer each  turned  in  a few  dollars  in  excess  of 
the  hundred. 

Each  was  handed  the  treasurer’s  receipt  for 
the  exact  amount  that  he  deposited. 

Then  came  a rather  dazzlingly  attired  young 
man  of  at  least  twenty-one.  He  had  watched 
the  others  and  now,  with  an  air  of  some  im- 
portance, drew  out  a roll  of  considerable  size. 
He  detached  two  fifty-dollar  bills  and  handed 
them  to  the  treasurer,  with  the  query : 

“A  century  covers  the  deposit,  doesn’t  it?” 
Though  the  treasurer  frowned  slightly  at  the 
slang  use  of  ‘ ‘ century,  ’ ’ he  replied  briskly : 
“You  must  deposit  all  the  money  you  have, 
Mr.  Geroldstone.” 

“But  that  doesn’t  seem  like  a square  deal,” 
protested  young  Geroldstone.  “I’ll  need  some 
money  for  personal  expenses,  some  for  little  din- 
ners, something  to  spend  on  the  young  la ” 

“You’ll  need  no  money  here,  Mr.  Geroldstone. 
Cadets  are  allowed  no  spending  money  outside 
of  the  so-called  confectionery  allowance,  and 
that  is  charged  to  you  from  your  pay.  ’ ’ 

“But  I’m  a big  candy  eater,”  urged  Gerold- 
stone, with  a grin. 

“No  argument,  if  you  please,  sir!”  rapped 


AT  WEST  POINT 


19 


the  treasurer  rather  sharply.  “Turn  over  all 
your  money  and  remember  that  you  are  on 
honor  in  the  matter.” 

Mr.  Geroldstone  received  a receipt  for  nine 
hundred  and  sixty-two  dollars,  plus  a few  small 
coins.  As  he  turned  away  he  muttered  to  one 
of  his  predecessors: 

“Say,  ain’t  that  a good  deal  like  a hold  up?” 

“Remember,  young  gentlemen,  all  the  money 
you  have,  ’ ’ admonished  the  treasurer,  as  the  line 
started  to  move  again. 

Thus  commanded,  the  candidates  went 
through  all  their  pockets  while  standing  await- 
ing their  own  turns. 

Dick  and  Greg  had  so  well  calculated  their 
traveling  expenses  that  each  turned  in  about 
twenty  dollars  above  the  required  one  hundred 
dollars. 

This  little  transaction  completed,  the  orderly 
turned  and  marched  them  back  at  once  to  the 
hospital. 

By  this  time  some  of  the  candidates  had  suf- 
ficiently overcome  their  nervousness  to  realize 
how  raw  and  chilly  this  first  day  of  March  was. 
All  of  the  candidates  wore  overcoats,  though 
the  outer  garments  worn  by  some  of  the  young 
men,  especially  those  who  had  journeyed  hither 
from  Southern  States,  were  not  of  a weight 
to  meet  the  March  demands  at  hilly  West  Point, 


20  DICK  PKESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


which  lies  exposed  to  the  icy  northern  blasts 
down  the  Hudson  River. 

It  looked  as  though  it  might  snow  at  any  mo- 
ment. There  was  “ice  in  the  air,”  as  Greg 
Holmes  expressed  it. 

So  it  was  a welcome  relief  to  all  of  the  young 
candidates  to  find  themselves  once  more  inside 
the  hospital  building. 

They  were  taken  into  the  same  room.  Dur- 
ing their  absence  the  hospital  corps  orderly 
had  distributed  blankets,  leaving  one  on  each 
chair. 

“Each  of  you  will  please  strip  now,”  an- 
nounced the  same  young  medical  officer,  coming 
briskly  into  the  room.  ‘ ‘ Strip  as  quickly  as  you 
can.  Each  man  take  a blanket  and  wrap  it 
around  himself  while  waiting.” 

Some  of  the  young  men  looked  startled,  but 
all  obeyed.  In  this  stripping,  and  in  the  varied 
degrees  of  orderliness  with  which  the  different 
stacks  of  discarded  clothing  -were  piled  it  was 
rather  easy  to  pick  out  the  young  men  who  had 
previously  undressed  in  the  dressing  quarters  of 
schools  or  colleges  where  athletics  are  a big 
feature. 

“If  we  had  a few  tom-tom  players  we’d  be 
ready  with  a fine  imitation  of  an  Indian  war 
dance,”  muttered  one  of  the  candidates,  gazing 
about  him  at  his  blanketed  companions.  There 


AT  WEST  POINT 


21 


v/as  a laugh,  of  course.  These  highly  nervous 
youngsters  were  ready  to  laugh  at  anything  just 
now. 

“Is  Mr.  Geroldstone  ready?”  asked  the  hos- 
pital orderly,  marching  into  the  room. 

“I  will  he,  in  five  minutes  or  so,”  replied 
Geroldstone,  slowly  pulling  his  shirt  off  over  his 
head. 

“Mr.  Danvers,  then,”  called  the  orderly,  con- 
sulting a slip  of  paper  in  his  right  hand. 

Candidate  Frank  Danvers,  a good-looking 
young  man,  self-contained,  slight  of  huild,  not 
very  tall,  but  very  black  as  to  hair,  stepped 
forward. 

“In  here,  sir,”  requested  the  hospital  orderly, 
holding  open  the  door.  After  Danvers  had 
gone  the  other  young  men  held  their  breath  for 
a few  moments — all  except  Geroldstone,  who  was 
still  leisurely  disrobing. 

Back  came  Danvers  after  a few  moments. 
Every  candidate  in  the  room  looked  at  him  in- 
quiringly. 

“Yes,  gentlemen;  I’m  very  happy  to  say  that 
I passed,  ’ ’ nodded  Danvers,  as  he  sprang  across 
the  room  and  began  to  don  his  clothes  once 
more. 

“Mr.  Geroldstone!”  called  the  orderly,  and 
the  big  candidate  went  in. 

An  anxious  twenty  minutes  passed — anxious 


22  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


alike  for  Geroldstone  and  for  those  who  still 
dangled  on  tenterhooks  in  the  outer  room. 

At  last  the  candidate  under  fire  came  out,  a 
sickly  grin  on  his  face.  Though  the  others 
looked  at  him  curiously,  not  a word  did  Gerold- 
stone offer. 

“The  big  fellow  has  failed,  I’ll  bet,”  mut- 
tered Greg  Holmes.  “I’m  sorry  for  him,  poor 
fellow.” 

Still  another  candidate  was  now  undergoing 
the  ordeal  inside.  When  he  came  out,  nodding 
contentedly,  the  summons  sounded: 

“Mr.  Prescott!” 

“Brace  up,  Dick!  You’re  all  right,”  whis- 
pered Greg,  with  an  affectionate  pat  on  the 
shoulder  as  young  Prescott  rose,  and,  wrapping 
the  blanket  nervously  around  him,  went  through 
the  doorway. 

The  same  young  medical  officer,  Lieutenant 
Herman,  was  in  the  other  room.  With  him  was 
an  older  medical  officer,  Captain  Goodwin. 

“Drop  your  blanket  on  that  chair,”  nodded 
Lieutenant  Herman.  “Now,  step  over  to  the 
scales.” 

Dick’s  weight,  stripped,  was  taken,  as  well 
as  his  height.  These  points  Lieutenant  Herman 
jotted  down  as  Captain  Goodwin  called  them 

off. 

“Now,  let  me  listen  to  your  heart,”  directed 


AT  WEST  POINT 


23 


the  senior  medical  officer,  picking  np  a stetho- 
scope from  his  desk.  The  heart  heat  and  sounds 
were  examined  from  several  points. 

“Come  here,  Mr.  Prescott,”  directed  Captain 
Goodwin,  opening  another  door  and  revealing 
a flight  of  stairs.  “Run  up  these  stairs  and 
hack,  as  fast  as  you  can.” 

As  Dick  halted,  after  that  feat,  his  heart  ac- 
tion was  again  examined,  this  time  hy  both  sur- 
geons. After  that  his  lungs  were  examined. 
Then  he  was  directed  to  lie  on  a table,  while 
the  areas  over  his  other  organs  were  thumped 
and  listened  to.  Then  the  candidate  was  ex- 
amined for  deformities.  He  was  ordered  to 
march  around  the  room,  to  run,  to  jump  over 
a low  stool,  and  perform  other  antics. 

Then  the  two  surgeons  conferred  briefly  at 
the  desk. 

“You’ll  do,  Mr.  Prescott,”  announced  Cap- 
tain Goodwin. 

“Thank  you,  sir,”  stammered  Dick,  the  flush 
of  happiness  coming  to  his  cheeks. 

“You’ve  taken  part  in  school  athletics, 
haven’t  you!”  asked  Lieutenant  Herman. 

“Yes,  sir;  captain  of  our  football  team  last 
fall.” 

“You  look  it,”  nodded  Lieutenant  Herman 
pleasantly.  “Take  your  blanket,  Mr.  Prescott. 
Orderly,  call  the  next  man.” 


24  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


As  Dick  strode  back  where  he  had  left  the 
others  he  heard  the  orderly  call: 

“Mr.  Holmes.” 

“Go  to  it,  old  man.  There’s  nothing  to  be 
afraid  of,”  whispered  Dick  Prescott. 

‘ ‘ They  got  through  with  yon  in  mighty  quick 
time,”  smiled  one  of  the  other  candidates. 

“Did  they!”  laughed  Prescott.  “It  seemed 
to  me  as  though  the  surgeons  started  yesterday 
and  finished  to-morrow.” 

Mr.  Geroldstone  had  finished  dressing  and 
sat  by,  a sulky  look  on  his  face.  He  wanted 
to  go  back  to  cadet  store,  get  his  money  and 
leave  West  Point  instantly.  But  the  orderly 
had  told  him  he  would  have  to  wait  until  a 
report  had  been  made  out  to  the  adjutant. 

To  Dick  the  minutes  dragged  until  Greg 
Holmes  appeared  again.  Truth  to  tell,  Greg 
was  much  afraid  that  he  had  a slight  trouble 
with  his  heart,  and  that  this  difficulty  would 
hinder  his  passing.  Dick,  who  was  aware  of 
his  chum’s  dread,  was,  anxious  for  Holmes.  As 
soon  as  he  had  finished  dressing  he  found  him- 
self pacing  the  floor. 

It  was  quite  a while  ere  Greg  came  out,  but 
his  quiet,  happy  smile  told  the  story. 

“Did  they  ask  you  questions  about  your 
heart!”  asked  Prescott  in  an  undertone. 

“Yes,”  admitted  Greg,  while  he  dropped  his 


AT  WEST  POINT 


25 


blanket  and  began  hastily  pulling  on  his 
clothes. 

“You  told  the  truth,  didn’t  you?” 

“Of  course,  I did,”  flushed  Greg.  “If  I 
hadn’t  told  the  truth  I wouldn’t  be  fit  to  be  an 
Army  officer.  But  Captain  Goodwin  laughed  at 
me.” 

“Then  he  didn’t  find  anything  much  wrong 
with  your  heart?” 

“He  said  he  guessed  I had  had  some  discom- 
fort at  times,  but  that,  if  I would  eat  more 
slowly,  and  chew  my  food  better,  my  stomach 
would  get  a rest  and  stop  shoving  my  heart.” 

“Oh!  Is  that  all  that  has  been  ailing  you?” 
smiled  Dick. 

“According  to  Captain  Goodwin  it’s  enough. 
He  says  my  trouble  started  only  recently,  and 
that  I can  be  over  the  last  sign  of  it  in  three 
days  if  I’ll  take  up  with  decent  eating  habits. 
But  he  has  known  boys  he  has  had  to  reject 
because  they  had  been  at  bad  eating  tricks  for 
a longer  time.  You  can  bet  I’m  going  to  fol- 
low the  surgeon’s  advice  after  this.” 

Four  out  of  this  squad  of  candidates  were  re- 
jected by  the  examining  surgeons.  Geroldstone 
remained  sulky,  with  an  air  of  bravado;  the 
other  three  young  men  were  so  downcast  that 
all  their  companions  were  heartily  sorry  for 
them.  The  hospital  orderly  marched  back  to 


26  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


the  adjutant’s  office  those  who  had  been  re- 
jected, while  another  orderly  appeared  and  led 
those  who  had  passed  the  surgeons  to  the  cadet 
barracks. 

“This  begins  to  look  like  the  real  thing,” 
murmured  Dick  as  they  neared  the  barracks. 

Now  this  group  were  taken  to  the  room  of 
the  cadet  officer  of  the  day,  Lieutenant  Edwards. 
Beside  the  cadet  lieutenant’s  desk  stood  Cadet 
Corporal  Brayton. 

To  the  cadet  officer  of  the  day  each  of  the 
candidates  gave  his  name  and  home  address, 
which  were  entered  in  a hook. 

“Brayton,  take  Prescott  and  Holmes  to  room 
number  — , will  you  ? ’ ’ asked  Mr.  Edwards  with- 
out looking  up. 

Dick  and  Greg  followed  their  conductor  out- 
side and  into  another  subdivision  of  barracks. 
Mr.  Brayton  kept  on  until  he  had  reached  the 
top  flight,  where  he  threw  open  a door. 

* ‘ Step  in  here,  Mr.  Prescott  and  Mr.  Holmes,  ’ ’ 
ordered  the  cadet  corporal  stiffly.  To  the  two 
new  arrivals  the  corporal  spoke  as  though  he 
had  conceived  an  intense  dislike  for  these  two 
boys.  Later,  Dick  and  Greg  discovered  that  it 
was  merely  the  way  in  which  all  candidates 
were  treated  by  the  cadet  officers. 

“You’ll  draw  your  bedding  and  other  things 
presently,  ’ ’ said  Brayton  coldly.  ‘ ‘ In  the  mean- 


AT  WEST  POINT 


29 


“Quit  your  ‘kidding,’  ” begged  Greg. 

“I  don’t  know  that  the  authorities  will  bother 
to  feed  us,  anyway,  until  we’ve  passed  and  it’s 
known  that  we  are  going  to  stay  and  be  cadets,” 
laughed  young  Prescott,  feeling  around  his 
belt-line,  for  he,  too,  was  hungry. 

“Candidates  turn  out  promptly!”  rang,  from 
below,  a voice  full  of  military  command. 

Greg  was  in  the  middle  of  a comforting  yawn 
and  stretch.  He  dallied  to  finish  it,  but  Dick, 
snatching  down  his  overcoat  and  hat,  was  al- 
ready out  on  the  landing  and  racing  below, 
while  behind  him  floated  the  advice: 

“Come  on,  Greg!  Get  a boost  on!” 

“Get  along  there,  beasts,”  commanded  a 
cadet  corporal  in  the  lower  hallway  sternly. 
“This  is  no  sleeping  match!” 

Out  in  the  yard  several  candidates  had  al- 
ready run.  Some  of  these  young  men,  at  home, 
had  been  accustomed  to  being  waited  on  by 
mothers  and  sisters.  Yet  here,  in  the  seemingly 
freezing  and  hostile  air  of  the  Military  Academy, 
these  same  young  men  were  fast  learning  that 
everything  has  to  be  done  by  one’s  self,  and  at 
steam-engine  speed. 

“Mr.  Danvers,  come  with  me,  and  I’ll  place 
you  as  right  guide,”  called  Cadet  Brayton, 
with  the  air  and  tone  of  a budding  military 

martinet. 


30  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


Candidate  Danvers  followed  meekly.  Bray- 
ton  looked  at  the  lad’s  stooping  shoulders  with 
frigid,  utter  disapproval. 

“Mr.  Danvers,  take  your  hands  out  of  your 
pockets,  sir.” 

“All  right,”  laughed  Mr.  Danvers,  obeying, 
and  trying  to  laugh  nonchalantly.  “Anything 
to  please.” 

“Don’t  address  a superior  officer,  sir,  unless 
he  addresses  you  in  a way  to  make  a reply 
necessary.  And  when  you  do  address  a su- 
perior officer,  or  any  other  cadet  or  candidate 
on  official  business  always  add  ‘sir.’  ” 

Danvers  nodded,  but  the  nod  Cadet  Corporal 
Bray  ton  ignored  by  turning  on  his  heel  and 
stepping,  with  a magnificently  military  air  and 
carriage,  over  to  another  luckless  candidate. 

When  ordered,  the  candidate  fell  in  next  to 
Mr.  Danvers.  Then  the  other  anxious  young- 
sters fell  into  line. 

“Candidates  turn  out  promptly!”  sounded 
snappily  in  another  part  of  barracks. 

Another  lot  of  newcomers  began  to  tumble 
downstairs  and  out  of  doors  with  feverish 
haste,  to  be  confronted  by  another  cadet  cor- 
poral who  awaited  them. 

“Never  mind  that  other  squad!”  admonished 
Cadet  Corporal  Brayton  sharply.  “Favor  me 
with  your  whole  attention.  Now,  then,  listen, 


AT  WEST  POINT 


31 


and  do  each  thing  as  I tell  you.  Button  your 
jackets  and  overcoats  all  the  way  down ! Stand 
erect,  with  your  heels  together,  and  your  toes 
pointing  out  at  an  angle  of  sixty  degrees.  Stand 
erect.  Throw  your  shoulders  hack,  your  chests 
out  and  hold  your  heads  up.  This  is  called  ‘the 
position  of  the  soldier.’  Stand  as  I do.” 

Corporal  Brayton  favored  his  awkward  squad 
with  a profile  view  of  himself,  as  he  took  the 
exact  position  of  a soldier.  How  the  anxious 
candidates  wished  they  really  could  stand  as 
this  handsome  young  son  of  Mars  did!  To 
them  it  seeemed  impossible  ever  to  acquire 
such  truly  military  carriage.  They  did  not 
realize  that,  between  drills,  gymnasium  work 
and  the  setting-up  drills,  they  would,  in  a few 
weeks,  be  hard  to  distinguish  in  elegance  and 
perfection  from  their  present  instructor. 

“Not  quite  so  much  like  an  ostrich,  Mr.  Pres- 
cott ! ’ ’ rasped  out  Corporal  Brayton  severely. 

Dick  flushed  painfully,  all  the  more  so  be- 
cause he  heard  one  of  the  other  candidates 
snicker. 

“Stop  that  laughing,  Mr.  Danvers!”  com- 
manded Corporal  Brayton. 

Greg,  in  trying  to  get  the  right  position,  had 
so  exaggerated  it  that  now  he  found  himself 
trembling  from  the  strain  of  trying  to  main- 
tain that  position. 


32  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

“What  ails  you,  Mr.  Holmes?”  demanded 
Brayton,  with  withering  scorn. 

“I — I was  trying  to  get  the  right  position, 
sir,”  stammered  Greg,  reddening. 

“That  isn’t  the  position  of  even  a respectable 
dromedary,  Mr.  Holmes,”  rejoined  the  cadet 
corporal  crisply. 

Then  he  poured  a storm  of  refined  abuse  upon 
Greg.  It  wasn’t  intended  entirely  for  Greg, 
but  for  the  benefit  of  all  the  awkwardly  stand- 
ing green  candidates.  Not  a word  in  Brayton ’s 
remarks  went  beyond  the  limits  of  strict  mili- 
tary propriety,  yet  every  word  cut. 

“My,  hut  I’d  like  to  fall  out  and  give  this  fel- 
low a licking!”  muttered  Greg  to  himself. 

“Mr.  Holmes,”  observed  Cadet  Corporal 
Brayton  dryly,  “clenched  fists  do  not  go  with 
the  position  of  the  soldier.  Let  your  hands 
fall  naturally  at  your  sides,  each  little  finger 
resting  against  the  seam  of  the  trousers,  or 
where  you  judge  the  seam  to  he.” 

Again  the  blood  shot  up  to  the  roots  of  Greg’s 
hair,  suffusing  his  face.  But  Mr.  Brayton  had 
already  turned  to  another  candidate  whom  he 
found  in  a ludicrously  had  position.  After  some 
minutes  of  this  attempt  to  instruct  the  candi- 
dates in  the  seemingly  simple  matter  of  stand- 
ing correctly,  Brayton  gave  the  welcome  order 
to  rest. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


33 


By  this  time  four  other  awkward  squads  were 
at  the  same  work. 

“I  wish  we  had  our  uniforms,”  whispered 
Greg.  “I’d  feel  better.” 

“I  am  glad  I haven’t  a uniform  yet,”  re- 
turned Dick  in  an  equally  low  voice.  ‘ ‘ I realize 
how  like  a fool  I’d  look  in  it  when  I don’t  even 
know  how  to  stand,  let  alone  attempting  to 
walk  in  a uniform.  Just  look  at  the  magnifi- 
cent carriage  of  the  man  that’s  drilling  us!” 
“I’d  like  to  hammer  him  until  he  needed  a 
carriage  to  get  anywhere  in,”  muttered  Greg 
vengefully.  “That  corporal  is  a brute,  with- 
out a vestige  of  good  breeding.” 

“Then,  for  a fellow  without  breeding,  he  cer- 
tainly carries  himself  like  a king,”  retorted 
Dick.  “At  least,  I don’t  believe  any  European 
prince  has  half  as  fine  a carriage  as  Mr.  Bray- 
ton.  ’ ’ 

“I  wonder  if  they’re  all  as  bad  as  this  cor- 
poral,” demanded  Greg.  “Brayton  is  a tyrant 
in  gray.” 

“Greg!  Greg!  Get  a brace  on  yourself,  old 
fellow,”  whispered  Dick  warningly.  “This  is 
only  the  morning  of  the  first  day,  and  we  have 
before  us  months — years — of  taking  our  medi- 
cine. Don’t  lose  the  gait  even  before  you’ve 
got  it.  , We  came  here  to  take  our  medicine 
and  learn  to  be  soldiers,  didn’t  we?” 


34  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

‘ ‘ Squad,  attention ! ’ ’ rasped  out  Corporal 
Brayton,  wheeling  and  once  more  favoring  his 
own  green  lot  with  his  whole  regard. 

Repeatedly  he  showed  these  new  men  how  to 
stand,  how  to  hold  themselves  and  how  to  do  it 
without  appearing  ridiculous.  So  crisp,  so 
rapping  and  even  decorously  abusive  was  Mr. 
Brayton  that  the  hoys  under  his  command  at 
this  moment  would  have  gasped  had  they  been 
told  that  Brayton  was  considered  one  of  the 
easiest  and  hest-natured  of  the  cadet  corporals. 
Brayton  had  his  work  to  do — that  was  all.  It 
was  part  of  his  own  training  to  learn  how  to 
whip  an  awkward  squad  into  time  in  the  short- 
est possible  order. 

By-and-hy  all  these  anxious,  even  trembling, 
candidates  were  instructed  in  the  mystery  of 
marching  a few  steps  at  command,  how  to  keep 
their  alignment  on  the  right  guide,  how  to  halt, 
the  facings  and  all  that. 

“Now,  we’ll  pass  on  to  learning  to  count 
fours,  and  how  to  march  off  in  column  of 
fours,  ’ ’ announced  Brayton.  ‘ ‘ Squad  halt ! ” he 
commanded  hoarsely,  in  disgust,  ere  the  young 
men  had  taken  four  steps.  “Listen  to  me  more 
attentively,  and  try  more  closely  to  follow  or- 
ders!” glared  the  young  corporal. 

After  that  it  seemed  as  though  Cadet  Cor- 
poral Brayton  could  have  no  other  aim  in  life 


•AT  WEST  POINT 


35 


than  to  drive  his  squad  of  candidates  away  from 
West  Point.  At  almost  every  move  through  the 
drill  he  berated  them  caustically,  though  in 
such  faultless  military  language  of  reproof  as 
to  keep  him  from  censure. 

“Dismissed,”  glared  Brayton  at  last.  “The 
candidates  will  go  to  their  rooms  until  sum- 
moned again.” 

Dick  and  Greg  both  felt  stiff  in  the  legs. 
Their  backs  ached  from  the  long-continued  drill- 
ing in  what  was  yet,  to  them,  the  rigor  of  near- 
military carriage.  Both  chums  toiled  up  the 
stairs  to  their  bare  room. 

‘ 4 Oh,  you  brute ! ’ ’ muttered  Greg,  standing  in 
the  middle  of  the  room  and  shaking  his  fist  in 
the  direction  of  the  area. 

4 4 Meaning — whom?”  queried  Prescott,  with 
a wan  smile. 

4 4 Whom  could  I mean  but  Brayton?”  almost 
hissed  young  Holmes.  4 4 Why  does  that  fellow 
hate  us  all  so?” 

“I’ll  tell  you  a secret,  if  you  want  to  hear  it,” 
proposed  Dick  mysteriously. 

“Please!”  begged  Candidate  Holmes. 

“Then  I don’t  believe  he  does  hate  us.” 

“What?”  gasped  Greg  incredulously. 

“I  don’t  believe  he’d  remember  half  our 
faces  if  he  passed  the  members  of  his  squad  in 
the  area  right  now,  ’ ’ declared  Dick. 


36  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


“Then  why  does  he  persecute  us  so!”  de- 
manded Greg  indignantly. 

“I  don’t  believe  it  is  persecution,”  Dick  con- 
tinued. 

“Then  why,  in  the  name  of  all  that’s  kindly, 
does  that  fellow  put  us  under  the  heel  of  hate- 
ful usage  ! Why  must  we  submit  to  the  tyranny 
of  that  cadet  corporal!” 

“It’s  the  West  Point  way — that’s  all,  I 
guess.” 

“Do  you  propose  to  submit  to  it!”  challenged 
Greg. 

“Yes,”  retorted  Dick  soberly.  “I  don’t 
want  to  have  to  leave  the  Academy  and  go 
home  stamped  ‘a  failure.’  ” > 

“Neither  do  I,”  admitted  Candidate  Holmes 
in  a more  moderate  tone.  “But  I wonder 
whether  we  have  to  stand  so  much  nonsense 
from  a petty  young  official  like  a mere  cor- 
poral!” 

“I’m  afraid  we  do,”  nodded  Dick.  “Now, 
see  here,  Greg,  can’t  you  make  a good  guess 
as  to  why  we’re  put  through  such  a grilling!” 

“I’ll  confess  I can’t  see  any  human  reason  in 
it,”  declared  Candidate  Holmes. 

“Why,  what  did  we  come  here  to  learn  to 
be!” 

“Soldiers.” 

“Are  we  soldiers  yet!” 


AT  WEST  POINT 


37 


“Of  course  not,”  Greg  admitted. 

“Do  you  think  these  people  at  West  Point 
have  time  to  coax  and  pamper  us  along?” 

‘ ‘ Probably  not.  But  can ’t  they — or  can ’t  that 
fellow  Brayton — be  decent  with  us?” 

“Now,  look  right  here,”  counseled  Candi- 
date Prescott  wisely.  ‘ i We  want  to  be  soldiers, 
but  as  yet  we’re  only  ignorant,  unregenerate, 
untaught  young  cubs.  To  the  older  cadets  we 
must  seem  like  pitiful  beasts.” 

“No,  we  don’t,”  sneered  Candidate  Holmes. 
“We  don’t  seem  anything  at  all.  No  cadet 
here,  unless  he’s  obliged  to  notice  us,  even 
looks  at  us.  We’re  less  than  nothing.” 

“That’s  true,”  nodded  Dick  thoughtfully. 
“And  I’ll  wager  it  will  be  pretty  nearly  as  bad 
all  the  time  we’re  plebes.  Now  brace  up,  Greg. 
Remember  what  a small  fraction  of  nothing  you 
are,  and  be  thankful  for  the  severe  handling  by 
Brayton,  which  may  eventually  transform  us 
into  at  least  pretty  fair  imitations  of  soldiers.  ’ * 
Outside  a drum  was  sounding.  It  was  mess 
call,  but  neither  candidate  knew  it.  Almost 
immediately,  however,  Brayton ’s  rousing  voice 
rang  up  through  the  subdivision: 

“Candidates  turn  out  promptly!” 

“There’s  our  slave-driver  once  more,” 
frowned  Candidate  Holmes. 

Dick,  as  he  raced  down  the  stairs,  remem- 


38  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


bered  to  button  bis  coat  down  its  entire  length. 
Greg  forgot.  As  he  darted  through  the  door- 
way to  the  porch  overlooking  the  area  he  found 
Corporal  Brayton’s  gaze  fastened  upon  him  in 
severe  displeasure. 

“Mr.  Holmes,  button  your  coat,  sir!” 

Reddening  and  frowning,  too,  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted, Greg  obeyed. 

“All  candidates  will  pass  quickly  through 
the  north  sally  port  and  make  formation,” 
continued  the  cadet  corporal. 

Here  the  entire  uniformed  cadet  corps  was 
forming,  facing  the  plain.  At  the  extreme  left 
of  the  line  a cadet  lieutenant,  two  sergeants 
and  four  cadet  corporals  busied  themselves 
with  forming  the  candidates  and  alternates  in 
line.  When  the  word  was  given  the  cadet  corps 
wheeled  to  the  right  and  marched  off  in  column 
of  fours,  quite  a splendid  model  of  military 
precision. 

Somehow  the  un-uniformed-  greenhorns  man- 
aged to  turn  into  column  of  fours,  though  some 
of  the  bewildered  boys  forgot  to  which  four 
they  belonged  and  there  was  some  confusion. 

Behind  the  superb  cadet  corps,  toiled  along 
these  all  but  hopeless  candidates  and  alternates, 
scores  and  scores  of  them — every  fellow  of 
them  feeling  more  awkward  than  his  nearest 
neighbors  in  the  line.  Badly  out  of  step  was 


AT  WEST  POINT 


39 


this  green  material.  Some  of  the  boys  slouched 
as  they  walked  along;  others  shuffled.  Their 
appearance  was  enough  to  dishearten  a trained 
soldier. 

But  at  last  all  these  green  ones  were  mar- 
shaled to  seats  in  the  great  dining  hall  at  cadet 
mess.  There,  in  a fine  dinner,  they  forgot,  mo- 
mentarily, many  of  the  discouragements  of  the 
forenoon. 

In  the  afternoon  came  a lot  more  of  drilling 
of  awkward  squads  by  other  cadet  corporals. 
Greg  soon  found,  under  the  tender  mercies  of 
another  corporal,  why  Brayton  was  considered 
“easy.” 

These  cadet  corporals  are  all  members  of  the 
yearling  class,  the  class  directly  above  the  plebes. 
As  corporals  these  members  of  the  yearling  class 
get  their  first  direct  experience  in  military  com- 
mand. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  all  candidates  were 
notified  that  academic  examinations  would  begin 
at  eight  o’clock  the  next  morning  in  the  Acad- 
emic Building. 

And  now  the  candidates  began  to  shiver! 
“Bad”  as  the  start  had  been,  they  hoped,  to  a 
man,  that  they  would  pass  these  academic  ex- 
aminations. To  fail  meant  to  return  home,  the 
dream  of  being  a cadet  shattered! 

“Ugh!”  muttered  Greg,  rubbing  his  hands 


40  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

in  quarters.  “Br-r-r!  Dick,  I’m  afraid  I’m 
scared  cold ! ” 

Prescott  smiled,  but  he,  too,  was  worried  over 
the  coming  mysteries  of  the  academic  exam- 
inations, which  he  had  heard  were  uncommonly 
“stiff.” 


CHAPTER  III 


THE  *' ‘ LUCKY' ’ ONES  TAKE  UP  THE  NEW  LIFE 


ANDIDATE  PRESCOTT  did  not  take 


the  best  examination  by  any  means, 


but  he  got  through  without  discredit  in 
any  branch. 

A number  of  these  candidates  had  spent  the 
last  year  or  so  at  some  * ‘ prep.  “ ' school  that  made 
a specialty  of  preparing  young  men  for  West 
Point  and  Annapolis. 

Greg  did  fairly  in  English,  quite  well  in  his- 
tory, geography  and  arithmetic;  in  algebra, 
through  sheer  nervousness,  young  Plolmes  barely 
escaped  going  short. 

Nearly  twoscore  of  the  candidates  failed  ut- 
terly. These  went  sorrowing  home,  giving  their 
alternates  a chance  to  enter  the  corps  in  their 
places. 

Soon  after  the  results  had  been  declared,  the 
young  men  who  had  passed  went  over  to  head- 
quarters. There  they  signed  a statement  to  the 
effect  that  they  entered  the  Military  Academy 
with  the  consent  of  their  parents  or  guardians, 
and  bound  themselves  to  serve  in  the  Army  at 
least  eight  years,  unless  sooner  discharged. 
These  new  young  men  were  then  formally  and 


42  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


impressively  sworn  into  the  service  of  their 
country.  They  were  now  cadets,  even  if  only 
new  plebes. 

Why  “new”  plebes!  Because,  under  the  new 
system,  with  candidates  admitted  in  March, 
there  is  still  a “plebe”  class  above  them  who  re- 
main plebes  until  commencement  in  June.  Hence 
the  distinction  between  old  and  new  “plebes.” 

In  the  presence  of  all  plebes  the  yearlings  and 
other  upper  class  men  keep  themselves  loftily 
apart,  except  when  compelled  to  drill  the  plebes 
or  perform  other  military  or  other  official  duties 
with  plebes. 

The  plebe,  old  or  new,  is  still  but  a “beast” — 
a being  unfitted  for  intimate  contact  with  upper 
class  men.  The  plebe  is  not  an  outcast.  He  is 
merely  fifteen  months  on  probation  with  his 
upper  class  comrades.  Unhappy  as  the  lot  of 
the  freshman  is  at  some  of  our  colleges,  the 
plebe  at  West  Point  is  of  far  less  importance 
in  the  eyes  of  the  upper  classes. 

Early  every  morning  cadet  corporals  marched 
squads  of  new  plebes  out  into  the  open  and  put 
them  through  the  mysteries  of  the  Army  “set- 
ting-up” drills.  These  drills  are  effective  in 
giving  the  new  man,  in  an  almost  marvelously 
short  time,  the  correct  military  carriage  and 
physical  deportment.  Between  these  and  the 
squad,  platoon  and  company  drills,  it  is  truly 


AT  WEST  POINT 


43 


wonderful  how  rapidly  the  new  cadet  begins  to 
drop  his  former  awkwardness. 

The  new  plebes  had  now  drawn  their  uni- 
forms and  rapidly  learned  the  care  of  these 
parts  of  the  soldier’s  wardrobe.  They  were 
also  taught  the  proper  occasions  for  wearing 
each  article  of  uniform. 

Academic  studies  had  now  begun  in  earnest, 
too.  The  idea  in  requiring  cadets  to  begin  in 
March  instead  of  in  June,  as  formerly,  is  that 
they  may  have  three  months  in  which  to  become 
accustomed  to  the  fearfully  exacting  require- 
ments of  study  and  recitation  in  force  at  West 
Point. 

It  was  a proud  day  for  all  these  new  plebes 
when  they  “drew”  their  rifles  and  bayonets 
and  began  the  laborious  study  of  the  manual  of 
arms. 

One  after  another,  as  fast  as  they  were  suf- 
ficiently proficient,  the  new  plebes  were  sent 
into  one  of  the  companies  into  which  the  Corps 
of  Cadets  is  divided. 

Cadet  Prescott  entered  D Company  four  days 
before  Greg  Holmes  was  assigned  to  the  same 
company.  Dick’s  success  indeed  spurred  Greg 
on  to  new  efforts,  although  poor  young  Holmes 
had  felt  that  he  was  working  as  hard  already  as 
human  flesh  could  endure. 

Early  in  April  nearly  all  of  the  new  plebes 


44  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


had  joined  their  companies.  It  was  a wholly 
new,  revolutionized  life. 

Many  of  the  new  plebes  had  come  from  homes 
of  luxury,  where  servants  had  abounded. 

But  here  at  West  Point  former  social  lines 
had  no  significance,  unless  it  was  to  invite  trouble 
down  upon  the  head  of  any  new  cadet  who  felt 
inclined  to  be  priggish. 

No  cadet  had  a servant,  nor  could  he  engage 
anyone  to  perform  any  of  his  own  duties  for  him. 

Each  cadet  in  the  entire  corps  rose  at  the  tap 
of  a drum — “reveille” — at  5.45  a.  m. 

At  the  first  sound  of  reveille  every  young 
man  sprang  from  his  bed.  Then  followed  hasty 
but  orderly  dressing  and  the  making  of  the 
toilet.  The  cadet  must  be  spick  and  span. 

Incidentally,  but  promptly,  he  fell  to  policing. 
The  room  must  be  in  order,  and  the  bed  made 
up  exactly  in  accordance  with  the  regulations  on 
the  subject.  All  clothing  must  be  hung  as  pre- 
scribed in  the  regulations.  A match  end  or  a 
scrap  of  paper  on  the  floor  brought  reprimand 
and  demerits. 

‘ ‘ Policing  ’ ’ is  the  orderly  care  of  quarters.  At 
6.20  “police  call”  sounded  on  the  drum  outside 
in  the  area.  Then  came  a swift  but  all-seeing  in- 
spection of  every  occupied  room  in  barracks. 

Swiftly,  indeed,  was  this  done,  for  at  6.30  the 
tap  of  the  drum  sounded  mess  call  for  break- 


AT  WEST  POINT 


45 


fast.  The  cadet  corps  formed  outside  the  north 
sally  port  and  marched  to  breakfast. 

About  seven  o’clock  breakfast  ended.  The 
corps  marched  back  to  barracks  and  was  dis- 
missed. 

By  7.15  every  young  man  was  hard  at  work, 
“boning”  hard  over  the  studies  in  which  he 
must  recite  during  the  forenoon.  He  “boned” 
until  7.55.  Then,  in  his  own  appropriate  sec- 
tion, he  marched  off  to  the  Academic  Building, 
remaining  in  the  section  room,  under  the  instruc- 
tion or  quizzing  of  some  officer  of  the  Army 
until  9.20. 

Now  the  new  plebe,  like  the  cadets  of  all 
classes,  marched  back  to  his  room.  At  his  desk 
he  studied  until  summoned  at  10.55  for  the  sec- 
ond recitation  of  the  day,  in  some  other  sub- 
ject. 

At  12.10  he  was  dismissed  from  this  second 
period  of  recitation,  but  12.20  found  the  young 
man  in  dinner  formation.  From  this  mid-day 
meal  the  cadet  reached  barracks  at  1.10.  Now 
he  had  some  time  with  which  to  do  as  he  pleased ; 
to  be  exact,  he  had  fifteen  minutes.  At  1.25  the 
freshman  marched  off  to  recitation  in  English, 
history  or  French.  At  2.30  the  cadet  found  him- 
self back  in  his  room,  forced  to  study,  as  few 
young  men  ever  study  in  civil  life,  until  3.30. 

From  3.30  to  6.25  p.  m.  the  plebe  was  allowed 


46  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

to  do  as  he  pleased  with  his  time,  provided  that 
in  so  doing  he  broke  none  of  the  regulations. 
He  might  amuse  himself  in  various  ways.  He 
was  at  liberty  to  go  over  to  the  library,  to  read, 
for  instance ; he  might  call  at  officers  ’ houses  on 
the  post  on  Saturday  or  Sunday  afternoon  if 
invited ; he  was  at  liberty  to  take  a walk — within 
cadet  limits.  Or,  if  he  felt  the  need  of  some- 
thing really  “wild”  in  the  way  of  diversion,  the 
lucky  plebe  was  permitted  to  go  over  to  the 
Academic  Building  and  examine  the  mineralog- 
ical  or  geological  collection ! 

As  a matter  of  fact,  the  plebe  who  in  most 
instances  was  doing  badly  with  the  great 
amount  of  study  and  recitation  required  of  him, 
was  likely  to  spend  most  of  his  afternoon  leisure 
in  “boning”  the  studies  in  which  he  was  de- 
ficient or  which  he  found  difficult  to  master. 

At  6.25  came  the  call  for  supper  formation. 
That  meal  was  through  at  about  seven  in  the 
evening.  Then  came  study  time,  lasting  until 
9.30  in  the  evening.  At  9.30  the  plebe  was  at 
liberty  to  turn  down  his  mattress  and  go  to  bed, 
if  he  felt  tired  enough ; if  not,  he  was  at  liberty 
to  study  a little  longer. 

At  10.30,  however,  taps  sounded  on  a drum 
just  inside  the  north  sally  port.  Now  Mr.  Plebe 
was  obliged  to  turn  out  his  light,  instanter,  and 
be  in  bed  against  the  visit  of  the  subdivision 


AT  WEST  POINT 


47 


inspector,  an  upper  class  cadet,  immediately 
afterward.  If  Mr.  Plebe  failed  to  be  in  bed  he 
was  reported — “skinned” — and  punished  ac- 
cordingly. 

In  between  there  were  always  the  drills,  the 
gymnasium  work,  inspections,  guard  mount  for 
each  plebe  about  once  a week  after  he  had  been 
admitted  to  the  ranks  of  the  battalion. 

To  the  boy  fresh  from  home  it  is  a fearfully 
hard  lot  at  first.  That  it  can  be  lived  through 
and  endured,  however,  is  proved  by  the  fact 
that  about  six  out  of  ten  of  the  cadets  who  enter 
at  West  Point  manage  to  graduate,  and  go  forth 
into  the  Army,  splendid  specimens  of  physical 
and  mental  manhood.  Very  few  of  the  cadets 
who  fail  at  West  Point  and  are  dropped  go 
away  from  the  Military  Academy  without  a mist 
before  their  eyes. 

The  plebes  at  West  Point  are  not  ostracized  by 
the  upper  class  men.  These  new  men  are  merely 
“kept  in  their  places”  with  great  severity,  and 
without  any  encouragement  whatever.  If  the 
plebe  can’t  stand  it,  then  he  is  plainly  not  of 
the  stuff  to  make  a soldier.  If  he  does  stand  it, 
he  goes  on  into  the  upper  classes,  one  after  an- 
other, graduates  and  is  commissioned  by  the 
President  as  a second  lieutenant  in  the  United 
States  Army. 

It  is  a hard  ordeal,  that  fellowship  of  “noth- 


48  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR  . 


ingness”  during  the  first  portion  of  the  West 
Point  course. 

Homesickness  is  the  worst  ailment  of  the  new 
cadet.  Day  by  day  he  grows  more  homesick 
until  it  seems  to  him  that  he  simply  cannot  en- 
dure the  Military  Academy  for  another  twenty- 
four  hours. 

One  afternoon,  while  taking  a walk  as  a re- 
lief from  too  hard  application  to  his  mathe- 
matics, Cadet  Dick  Prescott  stumbled  upon  some 
news  that  made  him  open  his  eyes  very  wide. 

“Well,  of  all  things!”  he  growled  to  himself. 

Then  he  walked  faster. 

“Greg  must  hear  of  this,”  muttered  the  new 
plebe. 

Going  down  the  street  at  military  stride, 
Cadet  Prescott  turned  in  at  the  north  sally  port, 
stepped  briskly  along  one  of  the  walks,  bounded 
up  the  steps  and  in  at  the  outer  door  of  the  sub- 
division in  which  he  dwelt. 

Up  the  stairs  with  considerable  speed  went 
Cadet  Prescott,  still  revolving  in  his  mind  the 
news  upon  which  he  had  stumbled. 

“What  on  earth  will  Greg  think?”  throbbed 
the  new  plebe. 

In  a very  short  time  Prescott’s  hurrying  feet 
carried  him  to  the  door  of  his  room  on  the  top 
floor.  The  door  yielded  as  Dick  put  his  hand  to 
the  knob. 


49 


ATWEST  POINT 

“Greg,  what  do  yon  think?”  whispered  Dick 
breathlessly,  as  he  went  quickly  into  the  room 
and  toward  his  roommate,  who  sat  bent  over  his 
study  table. 

The  very  attitude  was  unmilitary — a fact  that 
struck  Prescott  suddenly. 

Then  Greg,  hearing  his  roommate’s  voice, 
raised  his  head  somewhat  and  wheeled  about  in 
his  chair. 

What  a woebegone  face  Cadet  Gregory 
Holmes  presented! 

“Greg,  what  on  earth  is  the  matter1?”  de- 
manded Dick,  halting  short  and  staring  hard. 

“I  can’t  help  it,”  replied  Greg  miserably, 
shaking  his  head. 

“Can’t  help  what?”  demanded  Dick  thunder- 
struck. 

“I  can’t  help  what  I’ve  gone  and  done.  I 
had  to  do  it ! ” cried  Greg,  with  sudden  fierceness 
in  his  tone. 

“What  you’ve  done?”  echoed  Dick.  “Well, 
what  have  you  gone  and  done,  anyway,  old  fel- 
low? Does  it  stop  anywhere  short  of  murder — 
or  lying?” 

For  in  the  West  Point  code  of  honor  lying 
ranks  very  nearly  as  bad  as  murder. 

“I  guess  perhaps  it  isn’t  quite  as  had  as 
either,”  smiled  Greg  wanly.  “However,  I 
couldn’t  help  doing  it.” 


50  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


He  rose  to  his  °eet,  a bit  unsteadily,  leaning 
one  hand  on  his  study  desk. 

Greg ’s  hair  was  a bit  awry,  as  though  he  had 
run  his  hands  many  times  through  it  in 
some  mood  of  desperation.  This,  in  itself,  was 
in  defiance  of  West  Point  traditions- for  the  per- 
sonal neatness  of  the  cadet. 

“You  still  have  me  altogether  in  the  dark, 
Greg,”  murmured  Dick  wonderingly. 

“You’ll  lose  all  respect  for  me,  Dick,”  went 
on  Greg  miserably. 

“Then  it  must  be  something  awfully  bad  that 
you’ve  done,”  retorted  Dick,  opening  his  eyes 
wider  than  ever. 

Without  another  word  Greg  reached  to  his 
desk,  picked  up  a sheet  of  paper  and  in  silence 
passed  it  over  to  his  comrade. 

Dick  read  with  a gathering  of  his  eyebrows. 
Then  gradually  a look  of  anger  shot  into  his 
clear  eyes. 

“Greg  Holmes,”  uttered  the  other  cadet  in- 
dignantly, “you’re  a disgrace  to  your  native 
town  of  Gridley!” 

“Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?” 
demanded  Greg  almost  defiantly. 

“Do?”  retorted  Cadet  Prescott.  “I  believe 
I’ll  thrash  you — just  for  being  a disgrace  to  our 
native  place!” 

Not  intending  anything  of  the  sort,  but  merely 


AT  WEST  POINT 


51 


as  a dramatic  expression  of  his  rage,  Dick 
doubled  one  fist,  advancing  upon  Holmes. 

At  that  instant  the  door  was  flung  open.  Cadet 
Lieutenant  Edwards,  of  the  first  class,  strode 
into  the  room. 

Instantly  both  cadets  straightened,  where 
they  were,  standing  at  “attention,”  as  required 
to  do  when  a superior  officer  entered  their  quar- 
ters. 

“What  is  this!”  demanded  Cadet  Lieutenant 
Edwards,  though  betraying  no  more  than  official 
curiosity  in  his  tone.  “Have  I entered  just 
in  time  to  prevent  a fight?” 

“No,  sir,”  replied  Cadet  Prescott. 

* ‘ Then  what  ? ’ ’ 

“Sir,”  responded  Cadet  Prescott,  “I  wish 
to  report  my  roommate,  Mr.  Holmes,  for  writing 
this  letter!” 

Dick  held  out  the  sheet  of  paper,  which  the 
cadet  lieutenant  scanned  earnestly. 


CHAPTER  IV 


• greg’s  case  of  “blues” 

ONLY  a moment  did  Mr.  Edwards  need 
for  the  reading  of  Greg’s  note.  Then 
the  cadet  lieutenant  frowned  at  Dick. 
“Mr.  Prescott,  what  do  you  mean  by  perpe- 
trating a poor-spirited  joke  under  the  guise  of 
making  an  official  communication1?” 

In  an  instant  Dick  saw  clearly  that  he  had 
made  a military  mistake. 

“I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,”  he  said  meekly. 
“This  may  all  he  a joke  to  you,  Mr.  Prescott,” 
went  on  the  cadet  officer  dryly,  “hut  I presume  it 
is  none  whatever  to  Mr.  Holmes.” 

As  he  hadn’t  been  addressed,  Greg  did  not 
venture  to  answer.  He  stood  rigidly  at  atten- 
tion, though  both  he  and  Dick  were  flushing. 

The  paper  that  Mr.  Edwards  now  held  in  his 
hand  read  as  follows : 

“To  the  Superintendent, 

“The  United  States  Military  Academy. 

“Sir:  I have  the  honor  herewith  to  tender  my  resigna- 
tion as  a cadet  in  the  United  States  Military  Academy, 
the  same  to  take  effect  immediately.  I have  the  honor  to 

ke?  s*r>  “Very  respectfully, 

“Gregory  Holmes.” 


AT  WEST  POINT 


53 


“So  that’s  the  way  you  feel  about  it,  is  it, 
Mr.  Holmes?”  questioned  the  cadet  lieutenant, 
after  a second  glance  at  the  paper. 

“Yes,  sir,”  replied  Greg. 

“This  is  the  fourth  letter  of  the  kind  that 
I’ve  seen  this  week,”  continued  Mr.  Edwards 
stiffly,  though  a curious  smile  played  about  the 
corners  of  his  mouth.  “I  presume  that  two  or 
three  dozen,  at  least,  of  the  same  sort  have  been 
written  by  the  new  plebes.  Mr.  Holmes,  do  you 
know  what  was  done  with  the  other  letters  of 
resignation  that  I saw?” 

“No,  sir.” 

“Their  writers  tore  them  up,”  went  on  the 
cadet  lieutenant  stiffly.  “Now,  Mr.  Holmes,  if 
you  persist  in  believing  that  you  want  to  send 
this  letter  in  to  the  superintendent,  then  I think 
it  will  be  the  best  thing  you  can  do ; for  if  you 
still  persist  in  wanting  to  resign,  then  you 
haven’t  manhood  enough,  anyway,  to  make  a fit 
brother-in-arms  for  the  comrades  in  your  class.” 
This  was  severely  said.  Greg  paled  under  the 
verbal  thrashing. 

“If  you  really  wish  to  send  in  this  letter,” 
continued  Mr.  Edwards,  “you  have  a perfect 
right  to  do  it,  Mr.  Holmes.” 

“May  I speak,  sir?”  asked  Greg  when  the 
cadet  lieutenant  ceased  talking,  but  remained 
looking  fixedly  at  the  new  plebe. 


64  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


“Proceed,”  replied  Mr.  Edwards. 

“May  I have  that  letter,  sir?” 

The  cadet  lieutenant  handed  it  back  without 
a word. 

“May  I — may  I ” 

“Out  with  it,  Mr.  Holmes.” 

“May  I handle  this  letter  at  once  in  the  way 
that  I now  wish,  sir?” 

“You  may.” 

Greg,  his  face  again  flushing  painfully,  tore 
the  sheet  into  small  bits,  turning  and  tossing 
them  into  his  waste  basket.  Then  he  again 
wheeled,  standing  at  attention. 

“Stand  at  ease,  mister,”  ordered  Mr.  Ed- 
wards, dropping  out  of  his  official  tone  and  man- 
ner. “Now,  mister,  will  it  do  you  any  good 
if  I explain  a few  little  things  about  life  here 
at  West  Point?” 

“I  shall  be  very  glad,  indeed,  sir,  if  you  will 
be  good  enough,”  replied  Greg  rather  shame- 
facedly. 

“In  the  first  place,  mister,”  went  on. the  cadet 
lieutenant,  sitting,  now,  with  one  leg  thrown  over 
the  corner  of  Greg’s  desk,  “the  homesickness 
that  has  hit  you  touches  every  other  man  who 
comes  here.  It’s  a mighty  hard-working  life 
here,  and  I’ll  admit,  mister,  that  it’s  very  cheer- 
less during  the  plebe  year. 

“You  think  you  are  looked  down  upon,  and 


AT  WEST  POINT 


"55 


regarded  as  being  beneath  contempt,  mister. 
That  sort  of  treatment  for  a plebe  is  believed  to 
be  necessary  here.  Grant  got  it;  so  did  Sher- 
man; so  did  Sheridan.  George  Washington 
would  have  been  treated  in  just  the  same  man- 
ner had  there  been  a West  Point  for  him  to  go 
to. 

“It  isn’t  because  of  what  we  upper  class  men 
think  of  you.  It’s  because  of  what  we’re  wait- 
ing to  find  out.  I don’t  know  anything  about 
your  connections  in  your  home  town.  You  may 
have  been  a great  fellow  there.  You  may,  for 
all  I know,  have  had  a home  of  wealth,  luxury 
and  refinement.  Your  father  may  be  a man  of 
great  importance  in  the  nation.  I don’t  know 
anything  about  that,  and  I don’t  care  about  it, 
either,  mister.  From  the  moment  you  start  in 
at  West  Point,  you  start  your  life  all  over  again, 
and  you  stand  on  nothing  but  your  own  merits. 
We  don’t  know  how  much  merit  you  have,  and 
we  shan’t  know  until  you’ve  gone  through  with 
your  plebe  year  and  have  proved  whether  you’re 
a man  or  not.  If  we  find,  a year  from  this  com- 
ing summer,  that  you’re  a man,  we’ll  welcome 
you  into  the  heartiest  comradeship  of  all  the 
corps.  Mister,  I’ve  said  a lot  more  to  you  than 
most  upper  class  men  would  waste  the  time  to 
say.  Choose  your  own  course,  and  prove  where 
you  stand.” 


56  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


Then  Cadet  Lieutenant  Edwards  turned 
around  to  Cadet  Prescott  with  a look  that  made 
that  Gridley  boy  feel  rather  uncomfortable. 

‘ • As  for  you,  mister,  never  again,  while  you’re 
a plebe,  be  so  b.  j.  (fresh)  as  to  try  a joke  with 
an  upper  class  man.  If  there’s  one  thing,  mister, 
that  gets  a plebe  into  three  times  as  much  trouble 
as  any  other  thing,  then  it’s  b.  j.-ety!”  (fresh- 
ness). 

Of  a sudden  the  cadet  lieutenant  returned  to 
his  feet,  resuming  all  the  dignified  demeanor  of 
the  cadet  officer  on  duty. 

Instantly  Dick  and  Greg  stood  once  more  at 
“attention”  until  Mr.  Edwards  had  turned  on 
his  heel  and  left  the  room. 

“Hm!”  murmured  Dick,  as  they  heard  the 
lieutenant’s  retreating  footsteps.  “We’ve  both 
had  a jolly  good  lesson.” 

“You  didn’t  do  much,”  muttered  Greg  shame- 
facedly. “I  wouldn’t  feel  so  bad  about  a call 
down  over  a bit  of  ordinary  b.  j.-ety.  I was 
scorched  and  withered  for  being  a cold-foot  and 
a quitter — and  I deserve  it  all,  and  more!” 

“I’m  glad  you  see  that,  old  Gridley!”  mur- 
mured Cadet  Dick  heartily.  “Now,  Greg,  yon 
won’t  write  another  letter  of  resignation,  will 
you!” 

“Not  if  I die  of  homesickness  and  melan- 
choly!” muttered  Greg,  clenching  his  hands. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


57 


“Now,  after  letting  you  in  for  an  awful 
verbal  flogging,”  smiled  Dick  curiously,  “I’ll 
let  you  into  a secret.  I wrote  a letter  of  resig- 
nation, too.” 

“When?”  gasped  Cadet  Holmes  amazed. 

“Two  days  ago,”  confessed  Dick.  “I  read 
it  through  six  times  before  sending  it  to  the 
superintendent.  ’ ’ 

“You  didn’t — send  it  to  the  superintendent?” 
gasped  Greg. 

“No;  because  I also  tore  it  to  fine  bits  before 
sending  it  to  headquarters — and  so  the  letter 
never  reached  the  one  to  whom  it  was  ad- 
dressed,” laughed  Cadet  Prescott.  “Now,  look 
here,  Greg.  Admit  that  you  were  a prize  simple- 
ton, just  as  I was.  Let’s  start  anew — with  a 
bang-up  motto.  This  is  it : ‘A  Gridley  boy  may 
die,  but  resign — never!’  ” 

Dick  struck  such  a dramatic  attitude  that  both 
poor  young  plebes  began  to  laugh  heartily. 

“Oh,  and  now  for  the  news  that  brought  me 
back  here  hotfoot,”  ran  on  Prescott  glibly. 
“Greg,  you  never  could  guess  who’s  here  at 
West  Point.” 

“The  President,  or  the  Chief  of  the  General 
Staff?”  asked  Holmes  slowly. 

“Oh,  pshaw,  no!  They  don’t  either  one 
amount  to  as  much  as  the  fellow  I’m  talking 
about  thinks  he  amounts  to.” 


f)8  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


“Whom  did  our  Senators  appoint  to  the 
Academy?”  asked  Prescott  after  a pause. 

“Me,”  admitted  Greg,  again  turning  red. 

“Well,  whom  did  the  other  Senator  appoint?” 

“A  fellow  named  Spooner,  who  came  here 
and  Messed  out’  cold  (failed  badly)  on  the 
academic  exam.,”  Greg  responded. 

“WTlo  was  Spooner’s  alternate?”  persisted 
Dick. 

“I  don’t  believe  I remember,”  Greg  replied 
slowly. 

“No;  and  that  was  because  neither  you  nor 
I ever  knew.  Spooner’s  alternate  was — Bert 
Dodge ! ’ ’ 

“Wliat?  Bert  Dodge,  of  Gridley?”  demanded 
Cadet  Holmes  astonished. 

“That  very  chap,”  Prescott  admitted. 
“When  Spooner  went  home,  after  Messing  out’ 
here,  Bert  Dodge,  who  hadn’t  appeared,  was 
ordered  by  wire  to  report  at  once,  or  have  his 
name  stricken  out.  Bert’s  physician  wired  the 
War  Department  that  the  young  fellow  was  ill, 
though  the  illness  would  not  delay  him  more 
than  a few  days.  So  Bert  was  given  a brief 
grace.  Well,  sir,  I’ve  just  learned  that  Dodge 
reported  at  the  adjutant’s  office  this  morning. 
He  got  by  the  surgeons  bounding,  and  to-morrow 
he  sits  down  at  his  ‘ writs.’  (written  exam- 
inations) in  the  Academic  Building.” 


AT  WEST  POINT 


59 


“I  wonder  if  that  fellow  will  pass,”  cried 
Greg  wonderingly. 

“Oh,  I rather  think  he’ll  make  it  easily,”  re- 
plied Dick,  seating  himself  at  his  own  desk. 
“Bert  wasn’t,  a fool  at  his  studies.  He  spent 
more  than  three  years  at  Gridley  High  School, 
and  since  then  has  had  a school  year  and  a 
half  at  one  of  the  finest  prep,  schools  in  the 
country.  Oh,  I guess  he’ll  get  through  all 
right.  ’ ’ 

“So  we’ve  got  to  have  him  here  for  a com- 
rade ! ’ ’ sighed  Greg  disgustedly,  as  he  picked  up 
his  text-book  on  English. 


CHAPTEK  V 

CANDIDATE  DODGE  IS  CRITICAL, 


OTH  cadets  had  studied  for  ten  minutes,, 
perhaps,  when  a knock  sounded  at  their 
door. 

The  very  unusualnees  of  this  caused  both 
youngsters  to  look  around,  then  at  each  other. 

Had  it  been  any  cadet  of^cer  making  an  in- 
spection— as  w.  ; likely  to  happen  at  ny  min- 
ute of  the  waking  day — he  would  have  come 
straight  into  the  room.  And  any  other  cadet, 
after  knocking,  would  have  followed  this  by 
opening  the  door  and  stepping  inside. 

Eap-rap!  sounder.  again. 

“Oh,  come  in,”  called  Dick. 

The  door  opened.  Bert  Bodge,  dressed  in  the 
height  of  the  prevailing  fashion,  looked  inside. 

“May  I come  in?”  he  called,  in  what  was 
meant  for  a cordial,  friend-from-home  voice. 

“Oh,  yes,  conn  in,”  sighed  Dick  wearily. 

“That’s  not  quite  the  welcome  I might  have 
expected  from  you  two,’  muttered  Bert,  as  he 
opened  the  door  and  stepped  into  the  room. 
“Fellows,  you’re  at  West  Point  now,”  pro- 
ceeded Bert  Dodge  pompously,  “and  this  is  a 
place  where  social  points  count  tremendously,  as 


AT  WEST  POINT 


61 


I guess  you’ve  found  out  by  this  time.  Now, 
you  two  may  be  all  right,  and  I guess  you  are,” 
admitted  Bert  condescendingly,  “but  you’re  just 
the  sons  of  commoners,  while  my  father  is  a 
wealthy  man,  a banker  and  a leader  in  society. 
So  I guess  you  can  quickly  understand  that  I’m 
going  to  cut  a good  deal  wider  swath  here  than 
you  two  fellows  put  together.” 

Greg  Holmes,  who  had  been  following  Dodge 
with  a gradually  widening  grin  of  amazement, 
now  burst  into  a hearty  laugh. 

“Well,  what’s  so  awfully  funny?”  demanded 
Bert. 

“You — you — social  swell!”  exploded  Greg 
hilariously.  “Oh — wow!” 

“Oh,  enjoy  yourself  in  your  own  way,”  re- 
torted Bert  in  decided  anger,  “but  you’ll  soon 
find  out.” 

Then  looking  about  the  room,  he  remarked, 
going  on  a new  tack : 

“I  must  say,  you  fellows  are  rather  badly 
provided  for  showing  the  social  courtesies  here. 
You  haven’t  even  a chair  for  a guest.” 

“Plebes  are  allowed  only  two  chairs  to  a 
room,”  remarked  Dick,  rising  and  pulling  for- 
ward his  own  chair.  “Take  mine.  I’ll  sit  on 
the  corner  of  my  table.” 

“There’s  just  one  chair  in  my  room,”  con- 
tinued Bert,  as  he  seated  himself.  “That’s  one 


62  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

reason  I want  to  see  the  janitor,  or  steward,  or 
whoever  the  fellow  is.  I’m  going  to  tell  him 
to  put  in  a decent  allowance  of  chairs.  ’ ’ 

Greg  Holmes  went  off  into  another  fit  of 
laughter. 

“Janitor!  Steward?”  sputtered  Holmes. 
“Whew!  That’s  great!” 

“There  are  no  such  servants  here,  Dodge,” 
Dick  explained.  “In  fact,  every  cadet  has  to 
learn  to  wait  on  himself  in  nearly  everything. 
A plebe,  too,  has  to  learn  to  he  content  with 
whatever  he  has  given  him.  If  he  even  makes 
any  talk  about  it  he  is  called  h.  j.  A cadet  who 
is  found  guilty  of  b.  j.-ety  has  to  put  in  all  his 
spare  time  learning  to  walk  on  one  ear.” 

“Do  you  mean  to  say  you’ve  been  made  to 
swallow  stuff  like  that?”  demanded  Dodge, 
looking  at  Prescott  in  tall  disdain.  “Oh,  well, 
you  may  he  inclined  to  submit  to  such  treatment, 
but  I know  who  I am,  and  I ’m  not  going  to  stand 
for  any  nonsense  here.  What’s  the  matter  with 
you,  Holmes?  Are  you  ill?” 

For  Greg’s  face,  in  his  efforts  to  stifle  his 
mirth,  had  become  violently  purple. 

“I  don’t  suppose  you’ll  take  advice,  Dodge,” 
continued  Dick.  “If  I thought  you  only  could 
do  it  I’d  advise  you  to  walk  mighty  slowly  here, 
keep  your  lips  together  and  not  say  a word  until 
you’ve  learned  a lot.” 


AT  WEST  POINT 


63 


Dick  had  risen  and  was  standing,  unconsci- 
ously, in  an  attitude  that  showed  off,  in  his  natty 
cadet  uniform,  all  the  strength  and  grace  of  his 
fine  and  now  well  set-up  young  figure.  But  Bert, 
with  a desire  to  put  this  other  fellow  “back 
where  he  belonged,”  remarked  casually: 

“Prescott,  I don’t  just  like  the  fit  of  your 
coat.  Who’s  your  tailor!  I want  to  get  a dif- 
ferent one.  I’m  going  in  for  some  of  the  swell- 
est-fitting  uniforms  that  any  tailor  around  here 
can  turn  out.” 

Greg,  who  had  managed  to  breathe  naturally 
for  the  last  minute,  now  struggled  with  another 
of  his  purple-faced  paroxysms. 

“I  didn’t  think  to  ask  who  my  tailor  was,” 
Prescott  replied  quickly.  “In  fact,  I don’t  think 
I would  have  been  told  if  I had  asked.  You  see, 
every  cadet  here  has  to  take  just  what  clothes 
are  issued  to  him  at  the  cadet  store.  That’s  the 
rule  for  all  cadets  here.” 

“Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  I’ve  got  to 
wear  ‘hand-me-downs’?”  demanded  Bert  Dodge 
angrily.  “Save  that  sort  of  stuff  for  fellows 
who’ll  believe  it.” 

It  was  plain  that,  if  Bert  Dodge  had  dropped 
in  with  any  intention  of  being  neighborly  and 
from-home,  he  had  rapidly  forgotten  his  plan. 

Neither  Dick  nor  Greg  had  any  reason  for 
being  fond  of  the  fellow,  even  if  he  had  once 


64  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


been  a schoolmate  at  Gridley  High  School. 
Bert,  son  of  Theodore  Dodge,  a Gridley  banker, 
was  an  unpardonable  snob.  Readers  of  the 
High  School  Boys  Series  will  recall  how  Bert 
had  been  one  of  the  leaders  in  the  “sorehead” 
secession  from  the  football  ranks  at  Gridley 
High  School.  That  movement  failing  in  its 
purpose,  Bert  had  afterwards  provoked  Dick 
Prescott  into  striking  him,  and  had  then  had 
Dick  arrested  for  assault.  The  suit  had  failed, 
and  Bert  was  rebuked  by  the  court.  Much  more 
of  the  feud  that  young  Dodge  had  attempted 
to  wage  upon  Prescott  and  his  High  School 
chums  was  fully  narrated  in  “The  High  School 
Left  End.” 

It  was  nearly  a year  since  Bert  had  seen 
either  of  these  chums.  That  he  had  entered 
their  room  in  cadet  barracks  full  of  the  pur- 
pose of  impressing  them  with  his  new  impor- 
tance was  at  once  plain. 

Dick  was  just  beginning  to  find  the  atmos- 
phere oppressive  when  the  door  was  pushed 
quickly  open  after  the  faintest  suggestion  of  a 
knock. 

The  newcomers  were  Cadets  Pratt  and  Jud- 
son  of  the  yearling  class,  known  already  among 
the  plebes  as  two  of  the  worst  hazers. 

“Attention!”  hissed  Pratt,  as  he  strode  into 
the  room. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


65 


Neither  of  the  visitors  being  a cadet  officer, 
Dick  and  Greg  were  not  obliged  to  stand  at  at- 
tention. 

However,  neither  new  plehe  was  foolish 
enough  to  argue  the  matter.  Dick  and  Greg 
took  the  pose  ordered  and  at  once. 

“Mister,”  demanded  Pratt,  turning  upon 
Dick,  “what  is  this  cit.  (citizen)  doing  in  bar- 
racks!” 

“Mr.  Dodge  is  a candidate,  sir,  quartered  in 
this  building,  and  he  took  it  into  his  head  to 
visit  us.” 

“What  are  you  doing  on  that  chair,  Candy!” 
demanded  Judson,  flashing  an  angry  look  at 
Bert. 

“None  of  your  business!”  retorted  Dodge. 

“You’ll  stand  at  attention!”  retorted  Cadet 
Judson,  gripping  Bert  by  the  collar  and  pull- 
ing him  to  his  feet. 

“That’ll  be  about  enough,  Jud,”  warned 
Cadet  Pratt  in  a low  voice.  “Remember,  the 
fellow  is  nothing  hut  a candidate.” 

“You  fellows  seem  to  think  you’re  mighty 
important,”  sputtered  Bert.  “I’m  not  in  the 
habit  of  associating  with  hoodlums!” 

“Now,  if  that  isn’t  the  b.  j.-est  sunflower 
that  ever  grew  in  a farmyard,”  remarked 
Cadet  Pratt,  with  a wink  at  Cadet  Judson. 

“If  you’re  referring  to  me  be  a bit  more 


36  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


careful  in  your  witticisms,”  warned  Dodge 
stiffly,  “or  I shall  demand  satisfaction.” 

“Oh,  you’re  rather  certain  to  get  all  the  sat. 
you  want,  I imagine — when  you’re  a cadet,” 
retorted  Cadet  Pratt  dryly.  “But,  Jud,  our 
time  is  fairly  running  away  from  us,  and  we 
have  yet  other  social  calls  to  make.  Our  re- 
spectful farewells,  misters.” 

Turning,  straight  and  stiff  as  ramrods,  Cadets 
Pratt  and  Judson  marched  from  the  room. 

When  their  step  was  heard  on  the  stairway 
Greg  stepped  over  and  closed  the  door. 

“Well,  you  fellows  are  the  meekest  green 
apples  that  I ever  saw,”  laughed  Dodge  scorn- 
fully. “You  simply  lay  down  and  allowed 
those  two  military  bullies  to  walk  over  you 
just  as  they  chose.  Do  you  expect  to  get 
through  West  Point  like  men,  if  you  have  no 
more  self-pride  than  that?” 

“I’m  heartily  glad  you’ve  joined  us  here, 
Dodge,”  murmured  Greg  artlessly.  “You’ll 
show  us,  by  your  own  example,  just  how  to 
stand  up  for  our  rights.” 

“Humph!  I hope  you’ll  be  able  to  learn,” 
grunted  Bert,  rising  as  he  glanced  at  his  watch. 
Then  he  went  on,  a trace  more  amiably: 

“I  find  I’ve  got  to  go  back  to  my  room  and 
prepare  for  supper.  Now,  fellows,  we  haven’t 
always  gotten  along  in  the  best  shape  at  home. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


87 


But  here  at  West  Point  I suppose  we  all  start 
life  on  somewhat  of  a new  footing.  I’m  will- 
ing to  let  by-gones  be  by-gones  if  you  don’t 
presume  altogether  too  much  on  coming  from 
the  same  home  town.  Keep  your  places  with 
me,  and  we’ll  try  to  go  along  on  a somewhat 
pleasanter  basis  than  in  the  past.  Let  us  try 
to  forget  the  past.  Ta-ta,  fellows.  See  you  at 
the  supper  table.” 

Bert  stalked  out  loftily,  with  a considerable 
appreciation  of  his  condescension  toward  two 
fellows  whom  he  had  been  wont,  in  past  years, 
to  call  muckers. 

“Hold  me!”  begged  Greg  hoarsely.  “I’m 
going  to  have  % fit.  Oh,  wow ! Dick,  just  think 
of  that  poor  b.  j.  lamb  falling  into  the  hands 
of  the  yearlings!  What’ll  they  ever  do  with 
him  ? ’ ’ 

“Greg,  it  has  been  hard  enough  on  us  to  get 
used  to  the  new  ways  at  West  Point.  But  we’ll 
never  mind  anything  during  the  rest  of  our 
plebedom.  No  matter  what  happens  to  us  we’ll 
just  remember  how  much  more  is  bound  to  hap- 
pen to  pompous  old  Dodge.” 

Dick  returned  to  his  table,  picking  up  his 
text-book  on  French.  Greg  honestly  tried  to 
study,  but  every  other  minute  he  simply  had  to 
stop  to  laugh  at  the  thought  of  Bert  and  his 
pompous  ways. 


68  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


Finally,  when  he  could  restrain  hiinself  no 
longer,  Greg  broke  forth: 

“Dick,  old  ramrod,  no  matter  what  happens 
to  me,  now  I can  stand  it  by  thinking  of  Bert 
Dodge  being  here!” 

“I  hope  he  doesn’t  start  his  old  tactics  of 
making  trouble,”  muttered  Cadet  Prescott. 

“If  he  does,  he’ll  have  most  of  the  trouble 
in  his  own  possession,”  grinned  Greg.  “West 
Point  is  a place  where  manliness  has  the  only 
real  show.” 

“Yes,  but  a sneak  can  make  an  awful  lot  of 
trouble,”  sighed  Dick.  “Not  that  I mean  to 
call  Dodge  a sneak,  though.  I am  in  hopes  that 
he’ll  prove  anything  but  that.  From  the  minute 
that  a fellow  enters  the  Military  Academy  he 
starts  in  life  all  over  again.  So,  remember, 
Greg,  we  won’t  be  prepared  to  hate  or  distrust 
Dodge,  and  we’ll  lose  a hand  before  we’ll  utter 
a word  against  him,  based  on  anything  that 
happened  in  the  past.  ’ ’ 

“That’s  the  square  deal,  and  the  West  Point 
ideal,”  nodded  Greg,  who  was  rapidly  forget- 
ting the  letter,  the  fragments  of  which  were  now 
in  his  waste  basket.  “Who  knows  but  that,  in 
this  new  atmosphere,  Bert  Dodge  may  turn  out 
to  be  a man?  West  Point  will  do  that  very 
thing  for  him,  if  any  new  surroundings  can.” 
As  the  battalion  marched  to  supper  that  night 


AT  WEST  POINT 


69 


Bert  Dodge  felt  in  his  heart  that  hazing  must 
already  have  started  for  him;  for,  being  the 
only  candidate  left  at  West  Point,  and  having 
no  uniform  as  yet,  Dodge  was  compelled  to 
march,  in  his  rather  gay  ‘ ‘ cit.  ’ ’ attire,  at  the 
extreme  end  of  the  battalion  line. 

Bert  did  not  march  quite  alone,  however. 

Just  behind  him,  majestic,  unbending,  lynx- 
eyed  and  exacting,  marched  Cadet  Corporal 
Spurlock,  who  was  known  as  the  “worst” 
(strictest)  of  the  yearling  cadet  officers. 

“Chest  out,  Mr.  Dodge!  Don’t  wobble  so  at 
the  knees,  sir!  Can’t  you  carry  yourself 
straight?  Take  your  chin  away  from  your 
chest,  Mr.  Dodge.  Try  to  keep  step,  sir.  Fol- 
low my  count — hep!  hep!  hep!  hep!  Mr. 
Dodge,  you’re  out  of  step!  When  I call  ‘hep’ 
put  your  left  foot  down,  sir!  But  don’t  keep 
it  down,  sir ! ” added  the  exasperated  cadet  cor- 
poral in  a furious  undertone,  as  Bert  came  to  a 
dead  halt.  “Mr.  Dodge,  try  to  exhibit  some- 
thing close  to  intelligence.  Now,  again,  sir! 
Hep!  hep!  hep!  hep!” 

An  Army  officer  stationed  at  the  post  drove 
by  on  a springboard.  Three  young  women 
were  with  him.  They  saw  and  partly  under- 
stood. The  peal  of  laughter  that  floated  back 
from  them  brought  a flush  to  the  face  of  the 
green,  pestered  candidate. 


CHAPTER  VI 


IN  THE  HANDS  OF  THE  YEARLING  HAZERS 

UNDER  the  hard  grilling'  of  Cadet  Cor- 
poral Spurlock,  Bert  Dodge  actually 
made  a lot  of  progress  within  the  next 
few  days. 

Dodge  learned  that,  whenever  addressing  an 
officer,  whether  that  officer  were  a cadet  officer, 
or  one  of  the  Regular  Army  officers  stationed 
at  the  Academy  as  instructors,  he  must  add 
“sir”  to  every  communication.  He  also  learned 
that  he  must  not  address  any  superior  officer 
unless  first  addressed  by  him. 

Bert  also  picked  up  rapidly  the  knowledge 
that  he  was  no  better  than  anyone  else,  and  of 
not  a thousandth  part  of  the  importance  of 
any  upper  class  man. 

Much  of  this  the  young  man  picked  up  from 
his  new  roommate,  Tom  Anstey,  a soft-eyed, 
soft-voiced,  helpful  and  sunny  young  man  from 
Virginia.  Anstey  was  one  of  the  best-liked 
men  in  his  class,  but  the  new  plebes  at  first 
held  almost  aloof  from  Dodge. 

“Whatever  you  do,”  urged  Anstey,  “don’t 
make  the  mistake  of  trying  to  cultivate  the  ac- 
quaintance of  any  of  the  upper  class  men.” 


AT  WEST  POINT 


73 


“I’ve  encountered  two  already,”  muttered 
Bert. 

“Oil!”  and  Anstey  smiled  wonderingly. 

“Pratt  and  Judson,  of  the  yearlings,”  Dodge 
continued,  then  related  what  had  happened  in 
the  room  of  Cadets  Prescott  and  Holmes. 

“I  guess  you’re  going  to  be  in  for  it,  pres- 
ently, Dodge,”  nodded  Cadet  Anstey.  “Mr. 
Pratt  and  Mr.  Judson  are  known  as  two  ter- 
rors. ’ ’ 

“They  don’t  want  to  try  to  pass  any  of  their 
terror  on  to  me,  ’ ’ growled  Bert. 

Whereupon  Mr.  Anstey  took  his  roommate  in 
hand,  gently  and  genially,  and  tried  to  make 
that  new  cadet — for  Bert  had  passed  his  aca- 
demic exams,  without  even  a hint  of  trouble — 
understand  how  worse  than  foolish  it  would  be 
to  attempt  to  antagonize  the  upper  class  men. 

“You  come  from  the  same  place  that  Prescott 
and  Holmes  do,  don’t  you?”  asked  Anstey,  one 
afternoon,  as  the  roommates  rested  from  study. 

“I’m  glad  to  say  I don’t,”  replied  Bert,  al- 
most brusquely. 

“ Oh ! ” nodded  Anstey. 

“I  suppose  we’ve  got  to  be  comrades,  now, 
but  I don’t  like  that  pair  an  over-lot,”  Bert  ex- 
plained. 

“Odd!  Most  of  the  new  plebes  like  Prescott 
and  Holmes  all  the  way  up,  and  then  all  the  way 


72  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


down  again,”  murmured  Anstey  seriously. 
‘‘For  myself,  I don’t  know  any  two  fellows  in 
the  new  lot  that  I like  better.  ’ ’ 

“Oh,  I guess  they’re  all  right  in  a good  many 
ways,”  admitted  Bert  slowly.  “Only  we  never 
managed  to  hitch — that’s  all.  You  asked  me  if 
I came  from  the  same  place.  I used  to  live  in 
Gridley,  hut  I — er — well,  I went  away  to  Ford- 
ham  to  another  school.  My  father  had  a sum- 
mer place  in  Fordham,  and  he  took  up  his  voting 
residence  in  Fordham,  though  spending  a good 
part  of  his  winters  in  Gridley.  That’s  how  I’m 
credited  to  Fordham,  not  Gridley.” 

‘ ‘ Thank  you  for  telling  me,  ’ ’ nodded  Anstey. 
“I  had  just  been  wondering  if  it  were  not 
crowding  things  a bit  to  send  three  young  men 
all  from  Gridley.” 

“I’m  not  only  not  from  Gridley,  but  I came 
in  as  an  alternate,  anyway.  ’ ’ 

“How  are  you  getting  on  with  Corporal  Spur- 
lock?” asked  Anstey. 

“That  fellow?  Oh,  hang  him!  Spurlock 
drives  me  wild.  I came  within  a hair’s  breadth 
of  applying  to  the  commandant  of  cadets  for  a 
new  instructor  in  drill.  Only  you  told  me  that 
no  heed  would  be  paid  to  such  a request  from  a 
new  plebe.” 

“I  should  rather  say  not,”  grinned  Anstey. 
“However,  you’ll  be  through  the  prelim,  grind 


'AT  WEST  POINT 


73 


soon,  and  then  yon ’ll  he  admitted  to  a company 
in  the  battalion.” 

“I’m  fitted  for  it  now,”  growled  Bert. 

“You  won’t  get  into  a company,  though,  until 
Corporal  Spurlock  reports  you  as  fitted.” 

“That  fellow  is  the  most  rascally  tyrant  I 
ever  saw  anywhere,”  growled  Bert,  picking  up 
a text-book  on  mathematics. 

By  this  time  the  season  of  outdoor  drills  and 
daily  dress  parade  had  arrived.  This  particu- 
lar afternoon,  however,  in  the  latter  part  of 
March,  a heavy,  blinding  snowstorm  had  come 
along.  Cadets  were  nearly  all  in  barracks, 
therefore,  and  those  who  had  the  most  need  were 
studying  hard. 

“I’ve  boned  math.,  boned  French,  boned  Eng- 
lish,” muttered  Anstey,  at  last.  “Now,  I think 
I’ll  go  over  and  bone  Prescott  and  Holmes. 
Feel  like  going  along  with  me?” 

Bert  frowned  somewhat.  He  didn’t  care  to 
“approve”  of  the  two  Gridley  boys  too  much. 
But  it  was  so  deadly  dull  in  this  room  that 
Dodge  didn’t  care  to  be  left  alone,  either. 

“Oh,  I’ll  go,”  nodded  Dodge,  closing  a book 
with  a snap  and  rising.  “But  I’d  like  it  even 
better  if  you  had  some  one  else  in  mind  to 
visit.” 

“You  see,”  almost  apologized  Anstey,  “1 
want  to  see  Prescott  and  Holmes  particularly 


74  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


because  I’ve  been  talking  over  football  with 
them,  and  they’ve  been  telling  me  a lot  about 
their  high  school  eleven  that  was  right  smart 
and  interesting.” 

Bert  said  no  more.  If  his  ancient  foes  were 
going  to  tell  Anstey  about  the  old  football  days 
back  in  Gridley,  then  Bert  feared  they  might  be 
tempted  to  tell  a lot  that  would  bring  up  his  un- 
popular share  in  those  spirited  old  days. 

“But  Prescott  and  his  shadow  won’t  dare  to 
say  anything  against  me  if  I’m  sitting  right 
there  in  the  room,”  muttered  Bert  to  himself. 

So  he  and  Anstey  presented  themselves  at 
Dick  and  Greg’s  door.  Bert  was  almost  amazed 
to  find  himself  pleasantly  greeted,  but  Dick  and 
Greg  were  true  to  their  decision  to  bury  the 
hatchet  of  the  past  if  possible. 

It  was  nearly  time  to  light  the  gas.  In  the 
fading  light  Anstey  walked  over  to  a window, 
watching  the  snow  swirl  down  into  the  area  out- 
side. At  West  Point  the  snowstorms  are  fa- 
mous for  their  severity. 

“Hang  it!”  growled  Anstey.  “I  don’t  sup- 
pose you  can  ever  make  a Virginian  like  myself 
grow  to  like  this  beastly  winter  weather.  And 
I miss  the  drills  and  dress  parade.  Don ’t  you  ? ’ ’ 

“Yes,”  nodded  Dick.  “I  miss  everything  of 
an  outdoor  nature,  when  it  is  withheld  from 
me.” 


AT  WEST  POINT 


75 


“Oh,  if  you’re  missing  outdoors  just  now,  you 
might  go  out  and  keep  on,  within  cadet  limits, 
until  you’ve  tramped  five  miles,”  grinned  the 
cadet  from  Virginia. 

“If  some  of  the  upper  class  men  found  that 
we  liked  to  he  out  in  a snowstorm,  I’m  afraid 
they’d  make  us  stand  on  our  heads  in  a drift,” 
laughed  Cadet  Holmes. 

“Speaking  of  that,”  continued  Anstey, 
wheeling  about,  “have  any  of  you  fellows  run 
into  real  hazing  as  yet  ? ” 

“Not  I,”  replied  Prescott,  with  a shake  of  his 
head. 

“Nor  I,”  added  Greg. 

“It’s  a shame  that  we  should  be  expected  to 
put  up  with  any  such  nonsense,  ’ ’ growled  Cadet 
Dodge  belligerently.  “Who  are  the  yearlings 
that  they  should  feel  at  liberty  to  rub  our  noses 
in  the  mud?  We  plebes  ought  to  combine  to 
put  a stop  to  this  outrage.  Now,  I’d  like  to  see 
any  smart  year ” 

“Eh?”  called  a voice,  cheerily,  as  the  door 
was  thrust  open.  Yearling  cadets  Pratt  and 
Judson  stepped  into  the  room. 

Instantly  three  of  the  plebes  present  rose  and 
stood  at  attention.  Bert  Dodge  didn’t. 

“What  has  got  into  your  sense  of  military 
manners,  mister?”  demanded  Cadet  Pratt, 
transfixing  Bert  with  a haughty  stare. 


76  DICK  PRESCOTT ’S  FIRST  YEAR 


“What’s  wrong  with  my  manners?”  de- 
manded Cadet  Dodge. 

“What’s  that?”  cried  Pratt. 

“What’s  wrong  with  my  manners?”  repeated 
Dodge,  though  a hit  more  tractably. 

“What?” 

“What  is  wrong  with  my  manners,  sir?”  Bert 
amended. 

“That’s  just  a shade  better,  mister,”  admitted 
Yearling  Pratt.  “But  you  are  too  sparing  of 
your  ‘ sirs,  ’ mister.  Now,  answer  me  again,  and 
use  ‘sir’  after  each  word.” 

Plehe  Dodge  gulped  hard,  hut  Pratt  and  Jud- 
son  were  glaring  at  him.  So  he  began: 

“What,  sir,  is,  sir,  wrong,  sir,  with,  sir,  my, 
sir,  manners,  sir?” 

“Mister,  why  didn’t  you  stand  at  attention 
when  we  entered  the  room?” 

“Because  you’re  not ” 

“What?”  exploded  Yearling  Judson. 
“Because,  sir,  you’re,  sir,  not,  sir,  my,  sir,  su- 
perior, sir,  officers,  sir.” 

“Are  we  yearlings?” 

“Yes,  sir.” 

“And  what  are  you?”  demanded  Cadet  Jud- 
son, with  infinite  contempt. 

“Only,  sir,  a,  sir,  plehe,  sir.” 

“Mangy,  unkempt,  uncouth  and  offensive, 
are  you  not  ? ’ ’ 


AT  WEST  POINT 


77 


Bert  flared  and  swallowed  hard,  but  he  re- 
sponded, very  meekly: 

“Yes,  sir.” 

“You  ’re— what  ? ’ ’ 

“A,  sir,  mangy,  sir,  unkempt,  sir,  uncouth,  sir, 
and,  sir,  offensive,  sir,  plebe,  sir.” 

“Very  true,”  nodded  Mr.  Pratt.  “But,  at 
least,  mister,  you  have  learned  how  to  answer 
a yearling  or  any  other  superior,  haven’t  you?” 
“Yes,  sir,”  Bert  meekly  assented. 

“But  there’s  one  thing  the  poor  beast 
doesn’t  know  how  to  do  yet,”  observed  Mr.  Jud- 
son,  turning  to  liis  classmate.  “He  doesn’t 
understand  how  to  stand  at  attention  when  he 
is  honored  by  a yearling’s  visit.” 

“Teach  him — if  you  find  that  he’s  intelligent 
enough,”  advised  Yearling  Pratt. 

“Turn  down  that  mattress,  mister,”  com- 
manded Mr.  Judson,  pointing  to  Dick  Prescott’s 
iron  cot. 

Bert  made  the  mistake  of  looking  first  at 
Cadet  Prescott  for  permission. 

“Now,  mister,  what  makes  you  hesitate?” 
fumed  Mr.  Judson. 

“It  isn’t  my  cot,  sir,”  replied  Dodge. 
“What?” 

“It,  sir,  is,  sir,  not,  sir,  my,  sir,  cot,  sir.” 
“That  has  nothing  to  do  with  your  orders. 
Turn  down  that  mattress!” 


78  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


Bert  obeyed  with  great  alacrity. 

“Now,  then,  mister,”  ordered  Yearling  Jud- 
son,  “get  up  on  that  mattress,  and  stand  at  at- 
tention— upside  down!” 

It  took  Bert  Dodge  a few  precious  seconds  to 
understand  the  full  nature  of  the  ignominious 
thing  he  had  to  do. 

This  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  to  stand 
on  his  head  on  the  mattress.  He  could  rest  his 
hands  beside  his  head,  at  the  outset,  bracing 
his  feet  against  the  wall.  So  far  it  was  not  diffi- 
cult. But 

“Don’t  you  know  the  position  of  attention, 
mister?”  demanded  Cadet  Pratt,  with  feigned 
anger.  “Your  hands  should  hang  naturally  at 
your  sides,  the  little  finger  touching  the  seam  of 
the  trousers.” 

Now,  in  this  inverted  position  the  hands 
“hung”  anything  but  “naturally”  at  the  sides. 
In  fact,  Bert  had  to  hold  his  hands  up  in  the 
air  in  order  to  have  the  little  fingers  touch  the 
seams  of  the  trousers. 

Standing  on  his  head,  in  this  fashion,  without 
support,  was  something  that  taxed  all  of  Mr. 
Dodge’s  athletic  powers.  He  had  to  try  over 
again,  more  than  a half  a dozen  times,  ere  he 
achieved  a decent  performance  of  this  gymnas- 
tic feat. 

“Now,  let  us  see  how  good  a soldier  you  are, 


“Let  TJs  See  How  Good  a Soldier  You  Are,  Mister.** 


AT  WEST  POINT 


81 


mister,”  commanded  Yearling  Pratt,  turning 
around  upon  Plebe  Anstey. 

Anstey ’s  cheeks  were  just  a bit  pale,  from 
suppressed  anger,  but  he  speedily  mastered  this 
novel  way  of  standing  at  attention,  and  did  it 
to  the  satisfaction  of  the  hazers. 

Then  Dick  and  Greg  did  it,  and  rather  better 
than  either  of  their  predecessors.  The  old  gym. 
and  field  work  of  training  for  the  Gridley  High 
School  teams  had  hardened  their  muscles  in  a 
way  that  stood  them  in  good  stead  now. 

“Brace,  mister!”  commanded  Yearling  Jud- 
son,  focusing  his  gaze  on  smarting  Bert  Dodge. 

Bert  knew  what  that  meant,  from  hearsay, 
and  didn’t  pretend  that  he  didn’t.  This  time 
he  took  the  position  of  attention  on  his  feet,  and 
then  exaggerated  the  position  by  throwing  his 
head  and  shoulders  as  far  back  as  he  could, 
standing  rigidly  in  this  latter  position. 

It  isn’t  much  of  a thing  to  do,  as  far  as  taking 
the  attitude  goes.  It  is  the  length  of  time  a 
plebe  is  kept  at  a “brace”  that  makes  it  count 
as  an  effective  form  of  hazing.  “Bracing”  is 
generations  old  at  West  Point.  The  theory  of 
upper  class  men  has  always  been  that  bracing, 
long  continued,  fastens  the  principles  of  erect 
carriage  upon  a plebe,  and  teaches  him,  more 
quickly  than  anything  else  could,  how  to  hold 
himself  and  to  walk. 


82  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


Dick,  Greg  and  Anstey  were  likewise  soon 
straining  themselves  in  the  “brace”  attitude. 
And  mighty  funny  these  four  hapless  plehes 
looked  as  they  stood  thus,  wondering  when  the 
hazers  would  let  up  on  them.  But  Yearlings 
Pratt  and  Judson  looked  on  grimly,  warning  any 
plebe  as  often  as  the  offender  showed  a disposi- 
tion to  lessen  the  severity  of  his  “brace.” 

How  everyone  of  the  four  ached  can  he  de- 
termined by  the  reader  if  he  will  take  the  full 
position  of  the  brace,  and  hold  it  steadily  for 
ten  or  fifteen  minutes  by  a friend’s  watch. 

Dodge  began  to  wobble  at  last.  Anstey  was 
sticking  it  out  pluckily,  but  knew  his  endurance 
must  soon  give  out.  Dick  and  Greg  felt  their 
back  muscles  and  nerves  throbbing.  Yet  neither 
Judson  nor  Pratt  showed  any  intention  of  giving 
the  command  to  stop. 

Suddenly  a quick  step  was  heard  in  the  hall- 
way outside. 

Anyone  who  has  been  at  the  Military  Acad- 
emy as  long  as  had  Pratt  and  Judson  knew  the 
meaning  of  that  particular,  swift  step. 

One  of  the  “tacs.,”  as  the  tactical  officers  are 
called,  was  making  an  unscheduled  tour  of  in- 
spection. For  an  upper  class  man  to  be  caught 
hazing,  or  for  a plebe  to  be  caught  submitting, 
was  equally  dangerous  to  either  yearling  or 
plebe!  It  might  mean  dismissal. 


CHAPTER  VII 


A SUDDEN  GRIND  AT  MATH. 

HAD  Dick’s  been  the  first  door  opened  six 
cadets  would  have  been  instantly  in 
serious  trouble. 

Fortunately  the  door  across  the  corridor  was 
the  first  to  be  opened,  and  the  six  on  this  side 
of  the  hallway  heard  another  cadet’s  voice  call 
quietly : 

“Attention!” 

It  was,  therefore,  a tactical  officer  making  an 
inspection. 

At  the  United  States  Military  Academy  the 
superintendent,  who  has  the  local  rank  of 
colonel,  is  at  the  head  of  this  government  insti- 
tution in  all  its  departments. 

Discipline,  however,  and  training  in  tactics, 
comes  within  the  especial  province  of  another 
officer,  known  as  the  commandant  of  cadets,  who 
ranks  locally  as  a lieutenant-colonel,  and  who 
gets  in  closer  touch  with  the  cadet  corps. 

Under  the  commandant  of  cadets  are  several 
other  Army  officers,  captains  and  lieutenants, 
who  take  upon  themselves  the  numerous  duties 
of  which  the  commandant  has  oversight.  These 
subordinate  officers  in  the  tactical  department 


84  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


are  known  as  tactical  officers.  The  cadets  call 
them  “tac.s.” 

Each  day  one  of  these  “tac.s”  is  in  charge  at 
the  office  of  the  commandant,  which  is  in  cadet 
headquarter’s  building,  on  the  south  side  of  the 
area  of  cadet  barracks. 

This  officer,  who  is  in  charge  for  a full  period 
of  twenty-four  hours,  when  his  turn  comes,  is 
officially  designated  as  the  “officer  in  charge.” 
Among  the  cadets  he  is  privately  referred  to  as 
the  “0.  C.”  In  a similar  way,  in  cadet  par- 
lance, the  commandant  himself  is  known  as  the 
“K.  C.” 

Now.  one  of  the  numerous  duties  of  the  0.  C., 
who  is  an  Army  officer  and  himself  a graduate  of 
West  Point,  is  to  make  sudden,  unexpected  tours 
of  inspection  whenever  the  fancy — or  the  sus- 
picion— seizes  him. 

Such  an  inspection  need  by  no  means  extend 
through  the  whole  of  cadet  barracks.  It  may, 
for  that  matter,  be  only  to  one  subdivision,  or 
even  to  a single  floor  or  room  of  one  subdivision. 
Yet  record  must  be  kept  of  such  inspections,  and 
of  any  offenses  against  discipline  that  may  be 
discovered  by  such  a flying  visit. 

A scrap  of  paper  on  the  floor,  a match  end  on 
a study  table,  any  article  of  furniture  or  cloth- 
ing out  of  its  proper  place,  or  any  undress  or 
untidiness  on  the  part  of  a cadet,  constitutes  a 


'AT  WEST  POINT 


85 


breach  of  discipline,  and  must  be  reported  and 
atoned  for.  Naturally,  a case  of  hazing  would 
be  a most  serious  “delinquency,”  as  breaches 
of  discipline  are  termed. 

Just  what  Captain  Vesey,  0.  C.,  on  this  day, 
expected  to  discover  through  the  present  flying 
inspection  will  never  be  known.  If  he  had  tried 
Dick’s  door  first ! 

But  he  didn’t. 

However,  there  was  no  chance  whatever  for 
Yearlings  Pratt  and  Judson  to  retreat  unseen. 
The  door  across  the  hall  had  been  left  open,  and 
the  tac.  would  be  sure  to  detect  their  sudden 
departure. 

Dick  Prescott’s  first  movement  was  to  pounce 
upon  his  disordered  bedding,  swiftly  folding  over 
the  mattress,  and  laying  the  bed  clothing  in  the 
prescribed  manner. 

Then  he  tiptoed  up  to  the  dismayed  Judson, 
whispering  in  that  yearling’s  ear  as  he  know- 
ingly winked  at  Pratt : 

“If  I’m  not  too  abominably  b.  j.,  sir,  won’t 
you  please  come  to  my  table  and  help  me  bone 
math.?” 

It  looked  like  a saving  inspiration.  As  Dick 
slipped  into  his  chair  he  signed  to  Bert  Dodge 
to  stand  at  one  end  of  the  table.  Judson 
snatched  up  one  of  Dick’s  mathematical  text- 
books, opening  to  one  of  the  first  pages  at  ran- 


86  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


dom.  Dick  turned  sideways  in  his  chair,  glanc- 
ing up  at  the  yearling  with  a rapt  expression. 

Yearling  Pratt  slipped  into  Greg’s  chair. 
Holmes  and  Anstey  stood  on  either  side  of  him. 
Pratt  began  rapidly  to  sketch  out  a problem  that 
he  chanced  to  remember  from  plebe  year  math. 

Almost  instantly  the  door  swung  open.  Not 
one  of  the  cadets  happened  to  be  looking  in  that 
direction.  As  Captain  Ves$y,  the  tac.,  white- 
gloved,  stepped  into  the  room  he  was  just  in 
time  to  hear  Cadet  Judson  say: 

‘‘Perhaps  if  you  were  to  work  out  a formula 
in  algebra,  mister,  you  would  find  the  idea  even 
more  clear.  But  I think  you  understand  it 
now.” 

“Yes,  sir,  thank  you,”  replied  Cadet  Pres- 
cott. 

“This  is  the  way  I would  explain  the  prob- 
lem, ’ ’ murmured  Mr.  Pratt,  to  Greg  and  Anstey. 
Just  at  that  instant  the  yearling  looked  as 
though  butter  couldn’t  melt  in  his  mouth. 

Turning  a bit,  Pratt  caught  sight  of  the  tac., 
who  stood  looking  on  as  though  transformed 
with  wonder. 

“Attention!”  called  Pratt  at  once. 

All  the  others  wheeled,  Dick  rising  in  order  to 
do  so.  Six  young  men  who  looked  intensely 
earnest  over  study,  faced  the  0.  C.  respectfully. 

Doubtless  a bit  taken  back,  certainly  so  if  he 


AT  WEST  POINT 


87 


had  expected  to  find  anything  wrong,  Captain 
Vesey  took  two  steps  into  the  room,  glanced 
about  him,  then  wheeled  and  walked  out. 

“I  must  be  going  now,”  uttered  Yearling  Jud- 
son  a moment  later.  “Call  on  me  again,  once 
in  a while,  if  you  need  any  help  in  math.” 

“Thank  you  very  much,  sir,”  murmured 
Cadet  Prescott  respectfully. 

“Coming  along  now,  Pratt?”  called  Judson. 

“Yes;  I must  be  getting  back  to  my  own 
bone,”  replied  Yearling  Pratt. 

It  would  have  been  out  of  the  question  for 
yearlings  to  thank  plebes  for  a service  such  as 
had  just  been  rendered.  So  the  late  hazers 
merely  stepped  from  the  room. 

“Odd!  Mighty  queer!”  muttered  Captain 
Vesey  to  himself,  as  he  unhooked  his  sword  and 
stood  it  in  a corner  over  in  the  0.  C.’s  office. 
“Mr.  Judson  and  Mr.  Pratt  have  a pretty  bad 
reputation  for  hazing.  And  yet,  when  I come 
upon  them,  it  is  to  find  them  helping  the  poor 
young  greenhorns  through  the  mazes  of  math. 
I wonder  if  that  was  a put-up  job  on  me.” 

“Well  you  are  a silly  ninny,  Prescott!”  ut- 
tered Cadet  Dodge  disgustedly. 

“Meaning — what?”  asked  Dick  coolly. 

“Those  yearlings  were  just  about  caught  red- 
handed.  ’ ’ 


88  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


“Yes.” 

“And  you  had  to  go  to  work  and  arrange 
amateur  dramatics  like  a flash.  So  when  the  tac. 
pops  in  here,  he  finds  those  most  estimable  young 
ruffians  conducting  an  innocent  day  school 
here ! ’ ’ 

“Well?”  demanded  Prescott. 

“Why  didn’t  you  leave  it  for  that  yearling 
couple  to  pull  their  own  chestnuts  out  of  the 
fire  ? ’ ’ 

“Because,”  replied  Dick  quietly,  “I’m  not 
going  to  be  the  means,  if  I can  help  it,  of  having 
any  man  kicked  out  of  this  corps  when  he’s  as 
anxious  to  be  a soldier  as  I am!” 

“You’re  a ninny,  just  the  same!”  Bert  de- 
clared. 

“And  you’re  a hopeless  minority  here,  Dodge, 
so  come  along  back  to  our  room,”  broke  in 
Anstey.  “We’ve  some  boning  of  our  own  to  do 
before  the  call  sounds  for  supper  formation.” 

Before  the  battalion  of  cadets  marched  to  sup- 
per, through  the  heavy  storm  that  night,  the 
news  of  Dick  Prescott’s  inspiration  had  traveled 
pretty  firmly  through  the  yearling  class. 

It  is  against  all  West  Point  traditions  to  make 
a hero  of  a plebe.  Not  a word  of  congratulation 
came  to  Cadet  Prescott.  It  wouldn’t  even  save 
the  young  man  from  being  the  victim  of  a lot 
of  hazing  pranks,  for  these  inflictions  were 


AT  WEST  POINT 


89 


deemed  necessary  to  the  plebe’s  training.  None 
the  less,  the  incident,  as  it  became  known,  caused 
the  impression  to  spread  that  Cadet  Prescott 
was  a good  fellow  and  that  he  was  likely  to 
prove  a credit  to  the  grand  old  United  States 
Military  Academy. 

Hazing  a thing  of  the  past  at  West  Point? 
The  War  Department  and  the  authorities  at  the 
Military  Academy  have  done  all  they  could,  and 
will  continue  to  do  all  in  their  power  to  stamp 
out  hazing. 

Since  the  Congressional  investigation  in  the 
early  years  of  the  present  century,  much  has 
been  done  to  cut  down  the  rigor  of  hazing  at 
West  Point.  General  Mills  stamped  out  much 
of  it  with  iron  vigor.  Colonel  Scott  dealt  many 
hard  blows  to  the  system.  Other  officers  have 
bent  their  energies  to  the  same  problems.  The 
way  of  the  hazer  is  perilous  nowadays.  In  a 
word,  of  late  years  hazing  has  been  at  a very  low 
level  at  the  United  States  Military  Academy. 

It  is,  however,  a practical  impossibility  to 
stamp  out  hazing  wholly  in  an  institution  where 
hazing  has  been  one  of  the  most  cherished  tra- 
ditions through  many  generations  of  cadets. 

The  hazing  of  to-day  is  milder;  there  is  less 
of  it,  and,  with  rare  exceptions,  it  is  less 
brutal.  Yet  hazing,  in  one  form  or  another,  will 
•doubtless  continue  at  West  Point  through  the 


90  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

twentieth  century  as  it  did  through  the  nine- 
teenth. 

The  form  of  hazing  has  changed,  if  not  the 
spirit.  Sorely  pressed  by  tac.s,  and  by  other 
officers  stationed  at  West  Point,  the  yearlings, 
or  second-year  men,  who  do  most  of  the  hazing, 
have  developed  new  forms  of  the  ancient  sport, 
and  some  of  these  forms  may  be  carried  on  in 
actual  sight  of  an  Army  officer  without  exciting 
his  suspicions. 

Where  possible,  some  of  the  old-style  forms 
of  more  innocent  and  purely  mischievous  hazing 
are  retained.  Where  “necessary”  new  hazes 
are  employed  that  are  bound  to  tax  the  best 
efforts  of  disciplinary  or  other  officers  to  de- 
tect. 

Hazing  is  one  of  the  diversions  of  men  of 
mature  age  on  the  floor  of  the  New  York  Stock 
Exchange.  Even  in  the  United  States  Senate 
there  are  recognized  ways  of  hazing  a new  Sen- 
ator who  displays  too  little  reverence  for  the 
traditions  of  that  august  body. 

Then  why  hope  to  abolish  hazing  utterly  at 
West  Point? 


CHAPTER  VIII 


DICK  BONES  TROUBLE 

S May  drew  on  towards  June  there  was, 


among  the  yearlings,  a noticeable  fall- 


ing off  of  interest  in  hazing.  Every 
second-year  man  in  the  corps  found  himself  much 
more  interested  in  his  standing  in  his  studies 
than  formerly. 

Several  of  the  yearlings  had  reason  to  feel 
acutely  concerned  over  their  standing  in 
academic  work.  That  some  of  them  would  be 
“found”  and  dropped  from  the  corps  on  ac- 
count of  their  deficiencies  was  almost  a foregone 
conclusion. 

So  the  warm  nights  of  May  found  anxious 
young  men  in  all  the  classes  honing  up  to  within 
a few  minutes  of  the  sound  of  taps. 

Least  anxious  of  all  the  cadets  were  the  scores 
of  new  plebes.  They  had  been  required  to  re- 
port in  March  mainly  that  they  might  acquire  the 
proper  West  Point  habits  of  study  and  recita- 
tion before  going  into  the  summer  encampment. 
Hence  these  new  plebes  were  not  to  be  treated 
very  searchingly  in  the  academic  work. 

One  afternoon  Greg,  who  had  felt  half  ailing 
for  twenty-four  hours,  wept  on  sick  report  and 


92  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


walked  to  the  hospital  to  consult  the  medical 
officer  in  charge. 

Captain  Goodwin  looked  Greg  over  and  or- 
dered him  to  remain  at  hospital  that  night  for 
observation  and  treatment,  declaring  that  the 
young  plebe  would  doubtless  be  all  right  by 
morning. 

Cadet  Prescott  was  alone  in  their  room,  bon- 
ing hard,  at  about  nine  that  evening,  when  a 
member  of  the  cadet  guard  informed  him  that 
he  was  wanted  by  the  0.  C.  It  was  only  to  make 
an  explanation  of  something  trivial  that  had  oc- 
curred that  afternoon. 

As  Dick  rose,  placing  his  desk  in  order,  he  de- 
cided to  turn  off  the  gas  during  his  absence. 
This  he  did,  then  left  the  room. 

Crossing  the  area  he  climbed  the  stairs  to  the 
office  of  the  0.  C.  Pausing  at  the  threshold,  he 
sainted,  then  was  bidden  to  enter. 

Dick’s  report  was  quickly  made.  He  was  then 
permitted  to  return  to  quarters. 

As  Cadet  Prescott  threw  open  his  door  the 
room  was  in  darkness,  hardly  any  light  entering 
from  the  hallway. 

As  Dick  stepped  into  the  room  he  was  startled 
to  see  a dimly  defined  figure  bending  over  his 
cot. 

In  the  poor  light  it  seemed  to  Prescott  that 
the  intruder  wore  the  attire  of  a “cit,” 


AT  WEST  POINT 


93 


Now,  no  civilian  had  any  right  in  the  room, 
nor  in  cadet  barracks,  for  that  matter.  Pres- 
cott’s first  swift  conclusion  was  that,  some  scoun- 
drel was  there  for  wholly  improper  purposes. 

“You  rascal,  I’ve  got  you!”  exclaimed  the 
plebe,  crossing  the  room  almost  in  a single 
bound. 

Swift  as  a flash  Dick  laid  hands  on  the  in- 
truder, dragged  him  back  from  the  cot,-  wheeled 
him  around  and  let  drive  a blow  from  the  shoul- 
der that  caught  the  prowler  on  the  nose  and  sent 
him  to  the  floor. 

“Let  up,  you  b.  j.  plebe!”  came  a roar  of 
smothered  rage. 

The  body  had  fallen  nearer  the  door,  where 
the  light  from  outside  was  stronger. 

Dick  noted,  with  a thrill  of  dismay,  that  the 
other  was  attired  not  in  “cit.”  dress,  but  in 
the  cadet  gray. 

“Hold  on  a minute,”  begged  Prescott. 

Striking  a match  he  turned  on  the  gas.  As 
the  light  flamed  up  Dick  saw  Cadet  Corporal 
Spurlock  standing  before  him,  quivering  with 
rage. 

“You  b.  j.  plebe!”  snarled  Mr.  Spurlock. 
“I’ll  take  this  out  of  you!” 

“Certainly,”  replied  Dick  promptly.  “But, 
first  of  all,  I want  to  assure  you  that  I didn’t  see 
the  uniform.  I thought  I had  discovered  a cit. 


94  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


in  here,  and  I knew  no  cit.  could  be  here  on  any 
honest  business.  ’ ’ 

“Bosh!”  growled  Spurlock,  who  was  holding 
a handkerchief  to  a nose  that  was  bleeding 
freely. 

Cadet  Prescott  drew  himself  up,  his  eyes  flash- 
ing. 

“Pardon  me,  sir,”  returned  Dick.  “But  you 
know,  as  well  as  I,  sir,  that  a lie  is  impossible  to 
a cadet.” 

It  was  a hard  report  to  get  around  that  a cadet 
had  told  a lie.  At  times  cadets  have  been  known 
to  lie,  but  invariably,  after  detection,  they  have 
been  “cut”  and  forced  out  of  the  corps.  So 
lying  is  a rare  occurrence,  indeed,  among  the 
cadets. 

“I’ll  make  you  settle  for  this,  anyway,”  sput- 
tered Cadet  Corporal  Spurlock. 

“Very  good,  sir,”  Dick  answered  resolutely. 

“You’ll  settle  at  once,  too,  mister,  or  as  soon 
as  I’ve  stopped  this  flow.” 

“Very  good,  sir,”  Dick  answered  again. 
“But  if  I’m  not  too  b.  j..  sir,  in  talking  at  all, 
I’ll  call  your  attention  to  that  clock.  There  is 
just  time  for  you  to  reach  your  quarters  before 
taps  sound.” 

Spurlock  glanced  hastily  at  the  clock. 

“You’re  right,  mister,”  he  admitted.  “Then 
you  may  wait  until  you  hear  from  me,  mister.” 


AT  WEST  POINT 


95 


With  that  Spurlock  walked  quickly  from  the 
room. 

Dick  examined  his  cot  and  found  that  Spur- 
lock had  been  engaged  in  the  humorous  trick  of 
placing  some  two  score  exploded  caps  from  tar- 
get-rifle ammunition  under  his  under  sheet. 

“He  wanted  me  to  jump  into  bed  and  go  down 
plump  on  all  those  caps,  and  then  squirm  there 
until  after  taps’  inspection,”  grinned  Prescott 
as  he  swiftly  removed  the  stuff.  “It  would  have 
been  a tough  one,  too— but  now  I guess  I have 
a tougher  proposition  on  my  hands.” 

Prescott  sighed  a trifle  as  he  hastily  un- 
dressed, placing  his  clothing  according  to  the 
regulations  on  the  subject. 

Just  as  he  had  finished  taps  sounded  on  the 
drum  outside.  Dick  turned  off  his  gas,  bounded 
into  bed  and  lay  there  as  the  door  opened  and 
the  bull’s-eye  lantern  of  the  subdivision  inspec- 
tor flashed  into  the  room. 

“All  right  here,  sir,  or  accounted  for,”  Dick 
remarked  to  the  inspector,  who  hastily  closed 
the  door  and  hurried  along  on  his  rounds. 

True  to  the  medical  officer’s  promise  Greg  was 
discharged  from  hospital  the  following  morning, 
and  permitted  to  report  back  to  full  duty. 

“What’s  this  I hear,  Dick,  old  ramrod?”  Greg 
demanded  as  soon  as  the  chums  were  back  in 
quarters  from  breakfast.  “The  news  is  flying 


96  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

around  fast  that  Mr.  Spurlock  is  going  to  call 
you  out.” 

“I  expect  that  he  is,”  Dick  admitted  ruefully, 
and  then  told  his  chum  all  the  details  of  the  oc- 
currence of  the  night  before. 

“Why,  that  doesn’t  strike  me  as  fair  excuse 
for  a fight,”  Greg  muttered.  “You  explained 
and  apologized.” 

“Mr.  Spurlock  wouldn’t  accept  any  apology.” 

“Just  the  same,”  argued  Greg,  “I  don’t  be- 
lieve you  have  to  fight,  in  this  case.  You  can 
refuse,  anyway,  until  the  matter  has  been  ex- 
amined into  by  the  scrap  committee  of  the  year- 
ling class.  Now,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  you 
offered  explanation  and  apology,  I don ’t  believe 
that  the  yearling  scrap  committee  can  hold  you 
to  any  meeting  with  Mr.  Spurlock  this  time.  Let 
me  handle  this  affair  for  you,  old  ramrod.” 

“Greg,”  rejoined  Dick,  laying  an  affectionate 
hand  on  his  roommate’s  shoulder,  “as  long  as 
I’m  a new  plebe  I don’t  intend  to  try  to  dig 
out  of  any  fight  that  an  upper  class  man  de- 
mands from  me.  Perhaps  I could  get  the  scrap 
committee  to  turn  down  Mr.  Spurlock’s  desire 
— hut  I don’t  mean  to  do  anything  of  the  sort. 
I did  all  that  I felt  I could  do  consistently  to  stop 
the  fight.  Now  it  has  got  to  come  off,  or  else  it 
will  be  because  Mr.  Spurlock  has  become  more 
reasonable.” 


AT  WEST  POINT 


97 


“He’ll  eat  you  up,  that  big  fellow,”  mused 
Greg  bitterly.  ‘ ‘ Mr.  Spurlock  is  at  least  fifteen 
pounds  heavier  than  you.  He  has  bad  a year 
more  of  West  Point  gym.  work  than  you’ve  bad 
and  be  has  the  reputation  of  being  pretty  nearly 
the  yearling  champion  in  the  ring.” 

“Of  course  I shall  be  thrashed,”  admitted 
Dick  doggedly.  “However,  that  probably  won’t 
do  me  any  permanent  harm.  Besides,  Greg,  it’s 
certain  that  I’ll  have,  to  fight  some  yearling 
sooner  or  later,  so  I may  as  well  take  the  dose 
now.  Every  plebe,  I reckon,  has  to  have  one 
fight,  anyway,  with  a yearling.  It’s  a part  of 
the  system  here,  from  all  I can  hear.” 

Rap-tap  sounded  at  the  door. 

“Come  in,”  called  Dick,  but  the  door  opened 
just  as  he  was  calling.  Mr.  Kramer,  of  the  year- 
ling class,  stepped  inside. 

“Mr.  Spurlock  requests  me  to  inform  Mr. 
Prescott  that  he  demands  a fight,  at  as  early  a 
moment  as  possible.  ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ My  compliments  to  Mr.  Spurlock,  and  I will 
meet  him — here  in  barracks,  to-night,  I hope. 
Mr.  Holmes  has  consented  to  act  as  one  of  my 
seconds.” 

“Very  good,  sir,”  nodded  Yearling  Kramer 
stiffly.  ‘ ‘ Mr.  Holmes,  will  you  step  out  and  dis- 
cuss the  matter  with  me  now?” 

“Yes,  sir,”  responded  Greg.  He  was  gone 


98  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


ten  minutes.  When  he  returned  Greg  an- 
nounced : 

1 ‘ There ’s  an  extra  room  on  the  top  floor  of 
the  next  subdivision.  The  fight  will  take  place 
there  at  nine  to-night.  Mr.  Anstey  has  agreed  to 
help  look  after  your  interests.” 

“All  right,  and  thank  you,  old  fellow,”  nod- 
ded Dick,  as  he  turned  to  pick  up  a book. 

Greg  gulped  and  quivered  behind  his  chum’s 
back. 

“He  doesn’t  seem  excited,  but  I know  that  I 
am,”  muttered  Cadet  Holmes.  “The  dear  old 
fellow  won’t  lose  anything  through  nervousness, 
anywqy.  ’ ’ 

Dick  went  through  his  studies  and  recitations 
as  usual  that  day.  If  the  stiff  ordeal  of  the 
coming  night  carried  any  twinges  for  him,  it 
wasn’t  noticeable  in  his  demeanor.  Yet  Dick 
knew  that  the  news  had  gotten  thoroughly  about 
among  the  cadets.  He  saw  many  of  the  new 
plebes  gazing  at  him  wonderingly. 

When  they  returned  from  supper  that  night 
and  reached  their  room,  Greg  was  manifestly 
nervous — nervous  enough  for  the  pair  of  them, 
in  fact. 

“Dick,  do  you — do  you  expect  to  win?”  asked 
Greg  at  last. 

“Against  a man  like  Mr.  Spurlock?”  smiled 
Cadet  Prescott,  and  turned  back  to  his  study. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


99 


At  a little  after  half  past  eight  Mr.  Anstey 
knocked  on  the  door  and  came  in. 

“How’s  your  form,  Prescott,  old  ramrod?” 
the  Virginian  demanded. 

“Fine,  I hope,”  replied  Dick  laconically. 

Greg  heaved  an  inward  sigh. 

“Poor  old  Dick,”  he  told  himself.  “I  hate  to 
see  him  hammered  black  and  blue  in  a bare- 
knuckles  fight  like  this  one!” 


CHAPTER  IX 
plebe  pbescott’s  first  fight 

“TT  7 E’D  better  get  on  band  early,”  ad- 

\/\f  vised  Greg.  “You  want  to  take 
plenty  of  time  about  stripping  for 
the  tight.  It  would  be  throwing  some  of  your 
chances  away,  Dick,  for  you  to  strip  and  pre- 
pare hurriedly,  and  step  into  the  ring  all  flus- 
tered.” 

“You  think  I’m  going  to  lose,  don’t  you, 
Greg?”  demanded  Prescott  grimly. 

“Oh,  I hope  not,”  protested  Cadet  Holmes 
staunchly. 

“But  you  think  so,  just  the  same,”  smiled 
Dick.  “Now,  Greg,  do  you  remember  the  old 
Gridley  High  School  spirit!  Do  you  remember 
that  our  coaches  told  us  to  enter  every  battle 
on  gridiron  or  diamond  with  the  firm  conviction 
that  we  couldn’t  be  beaten!  That’s  the  old 
Grid,  spirit  that  has  been  stealing  over  me  the 
last  few  hours.” 

“It’s  a mighty  good  spirit  to  take  into  a 
fight,”  nodded  Anstey. 

Yet  he,  too,  felt  grave  doubts  that  Prescott 
could  come  out  of  the  approaching  fight  anything 
but  a mass  of  pounded  pulp.  Mr.  Spurlock  was 


AT  WEST  POINT 


101 


one  of  the  highly  accredited  fighters  of  the  year- 
ling class. 

“Well,  we’d  better  be  moving,”  nodded  Greg. 

When  they  reached  the  unused  room  on  the 
top  floor  of  the  next  subdivision  of  plebes,  they 
found  Cadet  Lieutenant  Edwards  and  Mr.  Jen- 
nison,  both  of  the  first  class,  already  on  hand. 
Mr.  Devine,  of  the  yearling  class,  who  was  to 
be  one  of  Spurlock’s  seconds,  was  also  in  the 
room.  There  were  two  buckets  of  water,  with 
sponges,  and  a supply  of  rough  towels. 

Almost  immediately  after  Mr.  Spurlock  and 
Mr.  Kramer  came  in. 

Both  of  the  principals  now  began  to  strip. 
Each  had  chosen  the  same  fighting  costume,  con- 
sisting of  old  gray  flannel  trousers,  belt,  rubber- 
soled  shoes  and  sleeveless  sweater. 

As  Spurlock  stood  forth,  arrayed  for  the  bat- 
tle, it  was  seen  that  he  was  a man  of  magnificent 
build  for  one  of  his  years.  His  chest  expansion 
was  splendid.  Over  his  chest  and  between  his 
shoulders  formidable  muscles  stood  well  out. 
His  arms  were  not  fat,  but  rather  bulky  with 
muscles.  He  made  one  think  of  a blacksmith. 

Dick  Prescott,  being  much  lighter,  did  not 
make  such  an  imposing  appearance.  Yet  he  did 
not  strip  to  look  like  a weakling.  His  chest  was 
fine,  the  muscles  between  his  shoulder  blades 
stood  up  well,  while  his  arms,  far  smaller  than 


102  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


Spurlock’s,  displayed  the  long,  well-knit  muscles 
of  the  Indian. 

Two  first  class  men  had  volunteered  to  act  as 
the  officials  of  the  fight,  since,  in  a cadet  fight, 
none  of  the  officials  can  ever  he  of  the  class  rep- 
resented by  either  combatant. 

“Are  you  ready,  gentlemen!”  inquired  Mr. 
Edwards,  while  Mr.  Jennison  drew  out  a watch 
that  had  served  at  many  a cadet  fight. 

“Ready,  sir,”  replied  Spurlock. 

“Ready,  sir,”  added  Prescott. 

“This  fight,”  announced  the  referee,  “is  to 
be  to  a finish.  The  rounds  will  last  two  minutes 
each,  with  a minute’s  rest  between.  Queensbury 
rules  will  be  followed  as  far  as  they  can  be 
made  to  apply.  This  being  a bare-knuckle  fight 
for  a matter  of  principle,  the  combatants  will 
not  shake  hands.” 

There  was  an  impressive  pause,  the  referee 
turning  to  look  at  each  fighter  in  turn. 

Spurlock  stood  at  ease,  his  arms  folded  over 
his  chest,  a grin  on  his  face. 

Plebe  Prescott  looked  less  confident.  He  stood 
with  his  fists  clenched  at  his  sides. 

“Time!”  called  Mr.  Edwards. 

Spurlock  unfolded  his  arms,  throwing  them 
in  an  attitude  of  semi-defense,  as  he  coolly  looked 
his  opponent  over. 

Dick  Prescott,  on  the  other  hand,  threw  his 


AT  WEST  POINT 


103 


left  foot  forward,  planting  it  firmly  tliongh 
lightly.  His  left  arm  raked  outward,  while  his 
right  fist  came  to  a guard  over  his  heart  region. 

“I  suppose  I’ve  got  to  start  this,  as  well  as 
end  it,”  jeered  Mr.  Spurlock.  He  made  a sud- 
den leap  forward,  throwing  his  offense  low. 
Dick’s  left  shot  out  to  counter.  Then  Spurlock 
drove  in,  but  Prescott  got  away  by  nimble  dodg- 
ing. Each  man  had  now  turned;  the  seconds 
jumped  nimbly  around,  the  referee  following, 
while  Jennison,  his  gaze  mostly  on  the  watch, 
jumped  nimbly  into  a corner  that  he  judged 
would  not  be  used  by  the  fighters. 

“This  isn’t  a sprint,”  sneered  Spurlock,  as 
he  followed  nimble  Plebe  Prescott  around,  Dick 
doing  some  saving  dodging,  ducking  and  side- 
stepping. 

Nearly  a dozen  of  Spurlock’s  blows  Prescott 
succeeded  in  escaping,  though  the  plebe  was 
kept  so  busily  on  the  defensive  that  he  could  not 
get  back  with  anything  to  count. 

“Stand  up,  you  jumping-jack!”  hissed  Spur- 
lock. 

He  did  get  in  a short-arm  jab  on  Dick’s  right 
lower  ribs  that  made  the  plebe  gasp  audibly. 

Spurlock  now  started  in  to  take  advantage  of 
this  by  getting  the  plebe  going.  Dick,  however, 
dodged  less  and  countered  better.  He  took  two 
nasty  blows,  then  Mr.  Jennison  called: 


104  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


‘ ‘ Time ! ’ ’ 

“You’re  standing  him  off  a heap  better  than 
I thought  you  could,”  whispered  Anstey,  as  ho 
and  Greg  sponged  the  plehe  fighter  off  quickly 
and  then  began  to  knead  his  muscles.  While 
this  was  still  going  on  the  referee  again  sum- 
moned the  fighters  forward. 

The  second  round  started.  As  before,  Pres- 
cott kept  mainly  on  the  defensive,  though  al- 
ways watching  his  chance  to  come  hack  at  his 
more  powerful  opponent.  Spurlock  began  to 
press  his  man  hard,  when,  of  a sudden,  Prescott 
got  in  low  under  the  other’s  guard,  came  up 
and  landed  a blow  on  the  Spurlock  nose  that 
brought  the  first  blood  of  the  fight. 

With  an  angry  growl  Spurlock  leaped  in  now, 
to  chase  and  wind  up  his  younger  opponent. 

But  Dick  did  some  nimble  dodging,  devoting 
his  attention  largely  to  defending  his  eyes  from 
assault. 

Then,  in  turning,  suddenly,  Dick  let  one  leg 
drag  an  instant  behind  him.  Spurlock,  follow- 
ing like  lightning,  aimed  a blow,  hut  it  fell  short, 
for  he  tripped  over  Dick’s  leg  and  fell  sprawl- 
ing. 

Referee,  time-keeper  and  plehe  principals 
laughed.  Spurlock’s  seconds  scowled. 

But  Dick  generously  drew  hack  five  or  six 
feet,  standing  on  the  defensive  until  Mr.  Spur- 


AT  WEST  POINT 


105 


lock  leaped  to  his  feet,  ready  to  renew  the  com* 
bat. 

Spurlock,  however,  had  hurt  one  of  his  knees, 
in  going  down,  just  enough  to  interfere  with 
his  nimbleness  of  pursuit  during  the  rest  of 
the  round.  Time-keep  Jennison  soon  ended  that 
round. 

“Mister,”  growled  Yearling  Kramer,  turning 
around  while  Dick  sat  between  his  seconds 
being  sponged  and  kneaded,  “don’t  be  so  much 
of  a coward!  Don’t  run  away  and  delay  the 
finish.  Stand  up  as  if  you  had  some  man- 
hood!” 

“Thank  you,  sir,”  replied  Dick  coldly.  “I’m 
managing  my  end  of  this  fight.  ’ ’ 

“You  b.  j.  little  poltroon,”  snarled  Kramer. 
“I’ll  call  you  out  myself  if  you  have  the  nerve 
to  talk  back!”  hissed  Kramer. 

“Is  licking  cowards  your  specialty?”  de- 
manded Prescott  coolly. 

But  that  settled  it,  making  a coming  fight 
with  Kramer  an  absolute  necessity,  now. 

“Mr.  Kramer,”  interrupted  Mr.  Edwards 
sternly,  “this  has  gone  far  enough.  You  must 
stop  hectoring  that  plebe,  sir.  He  has  all  he 
can  attend  to  as  it  is.  ’ ’ 

Kramer  stopped,  with  a snap  of  the  jaws.  He 
didn’t  want  to.  But  a hint,  on  a matter  of  eti- 
quette, or  the  code,  from  the  first  class  man,  was 


106  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


as  valid  as  a command.  And  Mr.  Edwards  had 
spoken  in  a tone  that  was  authoritative  enough. 

“You  run  all  you  want,”  whispered  Greg  in- 
dignantly. “You  have  a right  to.  This  room 
is  smaller  than  a Queensbury  ring.” 

“I  shan’t  stop  my  footwork  unless  the 
referee  orders  it,”  replied  Prescott,  in  an  under- 
tone. 

“You’re  doing  just  right,”  nodded  Anstey. 
“If  you  weren’t  Mr.  Edwards  would  stop  it. 
He’s  running  this  fight  on  the  fair-and-square. 
If  I have  a fight  I hope  it  will  he  my  luck  to 
have  Mr.  Edwards  running  the  job.” 

“How  do  you  feel?”  asked  Anstey,  in  an 
undertone. 

“All  right,”  returned  Dick.  “But  I had  to 
trust  to  footwork  to  save  myself.  Mr.  Spur- 
lock got  nearly  all  my  wind  in  that  other 
round.  ’ ’ 

“Is  your  wind  in  again?”  asked  Greg  anxi- 
ously. 

“Yes;  I think  I feel  as  fine  as  my  man  does,” 
replied  Dick,  stepping  up  from  the  care  of  his 
handlers  to  await  the  command. 

“Isn’t  Mr.  Kramer  the  brute?”  whispered 
Anstey  indignantly. 

“I’m  not  going  to  think  of  him,  now,”  an- 
swered Plebe  Prescott  over  his  shoulder.  “I 
have  all  I can  attend  to  at  present.” 


AT  WEST  POINT 


107 


“I’ll  get  him  now,  Kramer,”  muttered  Spur- 
lock, as  he  rose.  “Watch  me  reduce  that  b.  j. 
plebe  to  powder!  I hope  they  have  a spare  cot 
for  him  over  at  hospital.  ’ ’ 

Again  the  referee  set  them  at  it. 

Mr.  Spurlock  encountered  a mild  surprise,  for 
now  Dick  seemed  less  inclined  to  trust  to  his 
nimble  feet.  He  put  up  a stand-up  front, 
though  several  of  Spurlock’s  sledge-hammer 
blows  passed  over  Dick’s  falling  head. 

Then  the  yearling  began  to  fight  lower. 

The  plebe  put  up  a good  series  of  counters, 
though  he  took  another  bit  of  punishment  in 
the  short  ribs,  and  began  to  back  away. 

Across  the  room,  Mr.  Spurlock  began  driving 
his  victim,  slowly  but  systematically. 

Dick  retreated,  putting  up  the  best  guard  he 
could,  dodging  when  he  had  to. 

But  the  yearling,  full  of  the  grim  spirit  of 
the  thing,  pursued  without  undue  haste,  driving 
the  plebe,  a foot  at  a time,  clean  across  the  room 
toward  the  opposite  wall. 

At  last  Spurlock  had  his  victim  all  but  lean- 
ing against  the  wall,  sorely  pressed.  Then,  with 
a sudden  tensing  of  his  muscles,  the  yearling  let 
his  left  drive  to  “paste”  the  plebe ’s  head 
against  the  hard  wall. 


CHAPTER  X 


THE  “ BEAST’ ’ WHO  SCORED 

SMASH! 

But  the  plebe  wasn’t  there. 

Dick  Prescott  had  counted  on  this,  and 
had  wriggled  out  by  a duck  and  a plunge  for- 
ward that  carried  him  beyond  momentary  risk 
of  Mr.  Spurlock’s  following  right. 

The  yearling’s  left  fist  landed  with  such  force 
as  to  cause  a half  square  yard  of  plaster  to  fall 
with  a thud. 

With  a yell  of  disgust  Spurlock  wheeled 
about,  but  the  plebe  was  waiting  for  him. 

At  just  the  right  instant,  Dick  let  fly  with  all 
his  might  with  his  own  left. 

It  caught  the  yearling  over  the  right  eye, 
closing  it. 

Just  three  or  four  feet  back  danced  Pres- 
cott, then  came  forward  again.  A blow  set  the 
yearling’s  nose  to  bleeding  afresh. 

Then  bang!  went  the  other  eye  closed.  The 
upper  class  men  gasped  with  astonishment,  for 
Spurlock  was  now  getting  into  bad  shape. 

He  was  all  but  dazed,  in  fact,  and  had  twenty- 
five  seconds  yet  to  go  in  the  round. 

Then,  as  much  in  mercy  as  for  anything  else, 


AT  WEST  POINT 


109 


Dick  Prescott  dropped  his  left  against  the  year- 
ling’s  jawbone. 

There  was  a crash  as  the  dazed  man  went  to 
the  floor. 

Instantly  Mr.  Jennison’s  voice  rose,  counting: 

“One,  two,  three,  four ” 

“Take  the  full  count,  Spurdy,”  advised 
Kramer,  bending  forward  over  his  principal. 

“ eight,  nine,  ten!”  gasped  out  the  time- 

keeper. 

Mr.  Spurlock  had  shown  no  sign  of  rising.  In 
fact,  he  w'as  still  unconscious. 

“I  award  the  fight  to  Mr.  Prescott,”  called 
the  cool,  exact  tones  of  Mr.  Edwards. 

Greg  could  have  let  out  a whoop  and  danced 
a war-dance,  but  in  the  presence  of  upper  class 
men  this  plebe  had  to  restrain  himself.  An- 
stey’s  eyes  flashed,  but  otherwise  the  Virginian 
bore  himself  modestly. 

‘ ‘ Carry  Mr.  Spurlock  down  to  the  door.  Then 
summon  stretcher-bearers  from  the  hospital,” 
directed  Mr.  Edwards. 

It  was  Yearling  Devine  who  sprang  to  obey 
this  direction. 

Now  Dick  spoke,  ever  so  quietly. 

“Mr.  Kramer,  I understood  that  you  did  me 
the  honor  to  call  me  out.  ’ ’ 

“Eh?”  muttered  that  other  yearling.  “Oh, 
yes ; so  I did.  Whenever  you  ’re  ready,  mister!” 


110  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


‘‘If  Mr.  Edwards  and  Mr.  Jennison  are  will- 
ing,” returned  the  plebe  coolly,  “I’m  ready  as 
soon  as  Mr.  Spurlock  has  been  carried  away.” 

“Oho,  mister!  B.  j.  to  the  end,  are  you!” 

“No,  sir;  only  anxious  to  atone  for  my  b. 
j.-ety,”  replied  Cadet  Prescott,  with  a little 
flash  of  his  eyes. 

Anstey  had  gone  below  with  Devine,  to  render 
any  help  that  could  be  given. 

“This  is  rather  unusual,  mister,”  suggested 
Mr.  Edwards,  glancing  at  his  watch.  “How- 
ever, if  you  really  feel  fit,  and  if  it  suits  Mr. 
Kramer ” 

“Oh,  anything  will  suit  me,”  returned  the 
yearling.  Truth  to  tell,  Kramer  wasn’t  by  any 
means  sure  that  he  could  whip  this  crafty  plebe. 
But  the  issue  had  been  thrown  fairly  in  his 
teeth.  Moreover,  the  honor  of  the  yearling  class 
was  now  at  stake,  and  Kramer  wasn’t  the  man 
to  go  back  on  his  class. 

“Listen,  gentlemen,”  broke  in  Mr.  Edwards. 
“This  affair  started  a little  ahead  of  the  time 
set.  It  is  now  nine-fifteen.  In  ten  minutes  or 
less,  we  can  have  Mr.  Spurlock  on  his  way  to 
cadet  hospital.  Then,  if  you  two  mix  it  up 
spicily,  we  can  have  the  affair  over  by  nine- 
forty.  In  any  case  I shall  have  to  call  the  fight 
by  that  time,  and  decide  it  a draw,  if  necessary. 
What  say  you?” 


AT  WEST  POINT 


111 


“Quite  satisfactory,  sir,”  nodded  Kramer. 

“Satisfactory,  sir,”  added  Prescott,  waiting, 
as  a plebe  should,  until  the  yearling  had  spoken. 

Devine  was  back  almost  at  once.  The  seconds 
carried  the  still  unconscious  Mr.  Spurlock  below 
to  the  waiting  stretcher.  Immediately  after 
Kramer  dropped  in  on  a classmate,  who  gladly 
came  upstairs  to  aid  Mr.  Devine  in  seconding 
Mr.  Kramer. 

Not  an  unnecessary  moment  did  Mr.  Kramer 
lose  with  his  stripping.  He  was  ready  in  al- 
most record  time,  presenting,  bared,  a man  of 
about  Mr.  Spurlock’s  proportions,  weight  and 
general  muscular  fitness. 

Mr.  Edwards  quickly  recited  the  conditions, 
then  called  for  the  start  of  the  affair. 

Figuring  that  Prescott  must  now  be  a good 
deal  sore  and  at  least  a bit  winded,  Mr.  Kramer 
started  in  at  a lively  gait,  trying  to  bear  the 
plebe  down  with  swift,  overpowering  rushes 
and  showers  of  blows. 

Some  of  these  landed  on  the  plebe ’s  sturdy 
body,  the  whacks  resounding.  But  the  blows 
merely  stirred  Prescott’s  fighting  blood  within 
him.  Standing  up  fairly,  with  little  footwork, 
but  displaying  much  more  speed,  Dick  Prescott 
drove  in  blow  after  blow  in  such  bewildering 
succession  as  to  all  but  daze  the  yearling. 

Bang!  Kramer’s  right  eye  was  half  closed 


112  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


just  as  Cadet  Jennison  called  the  end  of  the 
first  round. 

“Great  Scott,  but  that  little  fellow  is  a canned 
hurricane!”  muttered  Devine,  as  he  wrung  out 
cloths  in  cold  water  and  applied  then  to  Kram- 
er ’s  swelling  eye.  ‘ ‘ Old  man,  you  want  to  swing 
one  blow  down  on  the  top  of  his  head,  and  crush 
him,  if  you  want  to  save  your  personal  appear- 
ance. ’ ’ 

“Won’t  If”  grunted  Kramer.  “Just  watch 
me.  I won’t  murder  the  plebe,  hut  I’ve  stood 
all  the  fooling  I’m  going  to.” 

As  the  combatants  rushed  at  each  other  again 
Kramer  struck  out  two  or  three  times,  then 
clinched  to  save  himself. 

“Break  away,  there!”  admonished  Edwards 
sternly.  “Get  off!” 

Again  in  that  round  Kramer  clinched,  despite 
the  referee’s  sternest  orders. 

“That’s  no  way  to  meet  a plebe,  Mr.  Kramer,” 
cried  Edwards  disgustedly. 

After  the  second  get-away  Dick  fairly  danced 
around  his  man.  A blow  on  the  nose  brought 
Kramer’s  blood.  Then  his  left  eye  went  all  but 
shut.  At  that  the  yearling  spun  dizzily.  Dick 
drove  a light  blow  in  behind  his  man’s  ear. 
Down  went  Spurlock’s  “avenger”  sprawling  on 
the  floor. 

Mr.  Jennison  began  to  count  while  Kramer 


AT  WEST  POINT 


113 


lay  on  the  floor,  stirring  uneasily,  yet  not  seem- 
ing to  comprehend  his  seconds’  warnings. 

“ eight,  nine,  ten!”  finished  Mr.  Jennison, 

then  put  the  watch  in  his  pocket. 

‘ ‘ The  fight  is  awarded  to  Mr.  Prescott,  and  it 
isn’t  nine  thirty  yet,”  announced  Mr.  Edwards. 

Dick’s  jubilant  seconds  sponged  him,  rubbed 
him  down,  kneaded  his  muscles  and  joyously  as- 
sisted him  in  dressing. 

Kramer,  coming  to  presently,  but  with  a face 
that  Anstey  said  “made  him  think  of  the  Dis- 
mal Swamp,”  was  assisted  downstairs  by  his 
seconds,  and  taken  to  the  cadet  hospital. 

With  the  exception  of  the  two  yearlings  whom 
Cadet  Prescott  had  thrashed  to  a finish,  all  who 
had  taken  any  part  in  the  fights  were  in  their 
beds,  and  lights  out,  when  the  subdivision  in- 
spectors flashed  their  bull  ’s-eye  lanterns  into  the 
room  a moment  after  taps  had  sounded. 

For  the  honor  of  the  class  another  yearling, 
Garston,  forced  a dispute  within  a few  days, 
and  Prescott  had  his  third  fight  on  his  hands. 
He  won  it,  though,  about  as  easily  as  he  had 
the  other  two. 

Three  such  victories  left  this  plebe  free  from 
further  fight  annoyance.  Also,  according  to  a 
tacitly  understood  rule,  none  of  these  three  year- 
lings could  engage  in  hazing  Mr.  Prescott  after 
that. 


CHAPTER  XI 

HOW  CADET  DODGE  HELD  POST  NUMBER  THREE 

IN  the  early  days  of  the  month  of  June,  came 
all  the  glories  of  Commencement. 

The  first  class  graduated,  and  went  forth 
to  receive  their  commissions  in  the  Regular 
Army. 

The  second  class  became  the  new  first  class, 
and  head  and  arbiters  of  all  personal  affairs  in 
the  battalion  of  cadets. 

The  yearlings  now  became  second  class  men, 
and  departed  on  their  summer  furlough,  to  last 
until  the  latter  part  of  August. 

The  old  plebes  moved  up  a peg,  also,  and  be- 
came the  new  yearlings,  vested  with  all  the 
power  of  hazing  and  otherwise  oppressing  and 
training  the  plebes. 

But  for  the  new  plebes — what?  They  were 
plebes  just  as  much  as  ever,  and  would  he  until 
the  following  June. 

The  day  after  the  graduating  class  had  de- 
parted, and  the  late  yearlings  had  followed  in 
their  trail,  as  the  furloughed  new  second  class, 
what  was  left  of  the  battalion  marched  forth 
out  of  barracks  into  camp. 

Here  under  the  khaki-colored  tents  what  was 


AT  WEST  POINT 


115 


left  of  the  battalion  settled  down  to  the  life  of 
the  soldier  in  the  field. 

An  untrained  eye  might  not  have  noticed 
much  in  the  arrangement  of  the  camp.  How- 
ever, the  tents  of  the  main  camp  were  arranged 
along  six  company  streets.  There  was  also  the 
larger  tent  of  the  tactical  officer  in  charge,  the 
guard-tent,  and  some  other  tents  used  in  the  ad- 
ministration of  camp-life. 

Now,  every  text-book  was  laid  aside  for  the 
summer.  Instruction  during  camp  period  was 
to  be  in  the  practical  duties  that  belong  to  the 
soldier’s  life. 

The  new  first  class  mourned  the  loss  of  a few 
members  who  had  been  “found” — that  is,  who 
had  failed  in  their  studies  just  before  Com- 
mencement. More  than  a score  had  been 
dropped  from  the  new  yearling  class.  Only 
two  of  the  new  plebes  had  been  dropped,  they 
having  been  found  wholly  and  absolutely  unfit 
to  keep  the  brain-fagging  pace  of  academic  work 
at  West  Point. 

“I  never  minded  study  back  home,”  mut- 
tered Greg,  as  he  and  Dick  toiled  setting  their 
few  belongings  to  rights  under  canvas.  “But, 
the  way  the  study-gait  is  kept  up  here  at  West 
Point,  I certainly  say  ‘hurrah’  with  all  my 
heart  at  the  thought  that  books  are  closed  for 
all  summer.” 


116  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR* 


“We’ll  be  back  at  the  grind  in  September 
again,”  laughed  Dick.  “And  I’m  assured  that 
we  haven’t  struck  the  real  study-gait  yet;  that 
these  new  three  months  from  March  on  are  only 
to  break  us  in  a bit,  so  that  we  won’t  mind  the 
real  thing  so  much  when  we  meet  it  in  Septem- 
ber.” 

“Then  you  give  me  cause  for  gloomy 
thought,”  shuddered  Greg. 

“Make  way  for  a future  general,”  grinned 
Anstey,  as,  with  both  arms  full  of  belongings 
he  forced  his  way  into  the  tent.  The  cadets 
were  housed  three  to  a tent,  and  Anstey,  to  the 
great  delight  of  Dick  and  Greg,  had  been  as- 
signed to  bunk  with  them.  Anstey,  too,  was  de- 
lighted, for  the  young  Virginian  was  a gentle- 
man of  the  actual  type,  who  had  been  growing 
steadily  more  weary  of  the  sham  “gentleman” 
that  Bert  Dodge  had  so  far  illustrated. 

“I’m  tent  orderly  this  week,”  announced 
Dick,  with  a grin.  “I  received  that  very  im- 
portant news  five  minutes  ago.  I’m  responsible 
for  the  order  and-  condition  of  the  tent  for  this 
week,  so  you  fellows  will  have  to  step  around 
to  keep  the  tent  in  style  to  suit  me.  ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Oh,  if  you  ’re  tent  orderly,  ’ ’ laughed  Anstey, 
“then  we  don’t  have  to  take  the  word  from 
you.  ’ ’ 

“You  don’t?”  demanded  Prescott. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


117 


“No,  indeed.  If  you’re  the  orderly,  then 
you’re  merely  a striker.” 

A “striker,”  in  the  Army,  is  an  enlisted  man 
who  is  paid  by  an  officer  for  doing  servant’s 
work  in  spare  time.  Hence,  a striker  is,  in  gen- 
eral, anyone  engaged  in  menial  service. 

“Come  on,  Holmesy,”  urged  Anstey,  rising. 
“We’ll  go  out  for  a.  stroll.  Striker,  see  to  it 
that  you  have  a flawless  tent  interior  when  we 
return.  ’ ’ 

In  his  glee  Anstey  seized  Greg  by  one  arm  and 
started  to  rush  him  out  of  the  j;ent. 

“Oh,  all  right;  go  along,”  gibed  Dick.  “See 
who’ll  get  the  lash  though,  when  I turn  in  my 
report.” 

“Would  you  skin  us?”  demanded  Anstey, 
halting  in  the  doorway  of  the  tent  and  gazing 
hack  with  a look  of  mock  horror. 

To  “skin”  a brother  cadet  is  to  report  him 
for  some  dereliction  in  duty,  thereby  bringing 
down  discipline  upon  the  offender. 

“Skin  you?”  repeated  Dick.  “Yes,  sir!  If 
you  leave  me  to  bring  order  out  of  all  this  mili- 
tary chaos  I’ll  hand  you  in  to  the  0.  C.  in  a way 
that  will  take  every  square  inch  of  cuticle  from 
your  body.” 

“Traitor!”  hissed  Anstey  tragically. 

“Mister,  it’s  a whole  year  yet  before  plebes 
can  sing,  laugh,  or  be  happy,”  came  the  mut- 


118  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


tered  warning,  as  one  of  the  newly-made  year- 
lings passed  by  the  tent. 

Anstey  became  silent  at  once.  He  had  been 
at  West  Point  long  enough  to  know  his  place  as 
a plebe. 

“Say,”  whispered  Anstey  presently,  his  eyes 
brimming  over  with  glee,  “have  yon  seen  poor 
old  Dodge  to-day?” 

“Not  parti cnlar ly, ” responded  Prescott. 

“Well,  he’s  the  maddest  rookie  (recruit)  you 
ever  saw!  Having  been  old  Dodge’s  roommate 
up  to  reveille  this  morning,  I am  in  a position 
to  state  that  he  took  advantage  of  the  general 
laxity  last  night,  and  slipped  out  of  barracks 
after  taps  last  night.  He  and  some  other  em- 
bryo cadets  got  a rowboat,  through  connivance 
with  a soldier  in  the  engineer’s  detachment. 
They  rowed  across  the  river,  to  Harrison,  and 
had  some  kind  of  high  old  racket.  It  must  have 
been  high,”  added  Anstey  pensively,  “for  I hap- 
pened to  turn  over  in  bed  this  morning,  and  I 
saw  old  Dodge  slipping  back  into  the  room  about 
an  hour  before  reveille.” 

“Well,  what’s  he  mad  about,  now?”  de- 
manded Dick. 

“Why,  he  has  been  drawn  for  the  new  guard! 
He’s  on  guard  for  to-day  and  to-night!” 
chuckled  Anstey  gleefully.  “Already  dead  for 
sleep,  his  official  duties  will  keep  him  without 


AT  WEST  POINT 


119 


much  more  sleep  for  twenty-four  hours,  or  until 
the  new  guard  goes  on  to-morrow.  Even  then 
he’ll  have  some  other  things  to  take  up  some  of 
his  time.” 

By-and-by  the  tent  was  so  much  and  well  to 
rights  that,  when  Cadet  Corporal  Brodie,  of  the 
new  yearling  class,  looked  in,  he  could  find  no 
fault  with  its  appearance. 

Dick  sat  down  on  his  box.  Greg  did  the  same. 
Plebes  are  not  allowed  campstools  in  the  sum- 
mer encampment — probably  on  the  theory  that 
so  much  luxury  would  be  certain  to  demoralize 
them. 

“I’m  going  out  for  a wee  bit  stroll, ’ ’ drawled 
Anstey,  after  taking  a look  in  the  tiny  soldier’s 
mirror  to  see  that  his  appearance  was  in  apple- 
pie  order. 

“Don’t  make  the  mistake  of  forgetting,  and 
calling  on  one  of  the  new  yearlings,  ’ ’ cautioned 
Dick  dryly. 

“There’s  no  trace  of  insanity  in  our  family 
history,”  responded  Anstey  gravely,  as  he 
stepped  outside. 

Dick  and  Greg  found  they  had  much  to  talk 
about  in  comparing  notes  of  what  each  had 
learned  about  the  nature  of  duties  in  the  sum- 
mer camp.  They  were  still  thus  engaged  when 
Anstey  bounded  back  into  the  tent.  The  young 
Virginian  looked  as  though  he  were  having  a 


120  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


tremendously  hard  time  to  keep  himself  from 
exploding. 

“Oh,  this  is  rich!”  he  chuckled. 

“What  is?”  inquired  Dick,  looking  up  in 
some  mystification. 

“What  do  you  suppose  Dodge  has  gone  and 
done,  now?” 

“Said  a kind  word  about  me?”  smiled  Pres- 
cott. 

“I  didn’t  say  anything  about  miracles,” 
drawled  the  Virginian.  “No;  poor  old  Dodge 
has  drawn  number  three  post  for  guard  duty 
on  the  late  tour  to-night ! ” 

“Well,  isn’t  three  a good  enough  number?” 
asked  Greg  innocently. 

“A  good  post,  you  meandering  old  puddin’- 
head!”  retorted  Anstey.  “Good?  The  post 
that  goes  by  old  Fort  Clinton?” 

“Well,  it  is  a bit  lonely,  off  there  in  the 
woods,”  admitted  Cadet  Prescott. 

“Lonely?”  bubbled  over  Anstey.  “And 
you’ve  seen  the  ditch  that  runs  along  by  that 
post?” 

“Naturally,”  nodded  Dick.  “You  will  prob- 
ably remember  that  I got  past  the  eye-sight  tests 
of  the  rainmakers”  (doctors). 

“Now,  I’ve  just  been  talking  with  a young  cit. 
fellow,  who’s  visiting  one  of  the  officers  on 
post,”  continued  Anstey.  “He  tells  me  that* 


AT  WEST  POINT 


121 


every  year,  some  of  the  yearlings  slyly  waylay 
a plebe  whenever  they  can  catch  him  pacing  on 
number  three  post  late  at  night.  ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ What  do  they  do  to  him  ? ’ ’ questioned  Pres* 
cott. 

“Oh,  they  don’t  do  a thing  to  him,  I reckon,” 
drawled  the  Virginian.  “At  least,  nothing  that 
a jovial  fellow  can  object  to.  They  may  roll 
him  down  in  the  ditch,  take  his  gun  away 
from  him,  and  hide  it,  or  some  little  thing  like 
that.” 

“Then,  see  here,”  proposed  Dick  solemnly, 
“Dodge  may  not  be  the  most  popular  fellow  in 
the  corps,  but  he’s  one  of  us,  anyway.  He  be- 
longs to  our  class.  Anything  that  is  done 
against  him  is,  in  a measure,  done  to  the  whole 
class.  Anstey,  we  ought  to  get  Dodge  aside  and 
warn  him.” 

“Warn  him?”  repeated  Anstey  aghast. 
“Warn  him — and  spoil  all  the  fun!” 

“I  know  I’d  want  to  be  warned,  if  it  were 
likely  to  happen  to  me  to-night,”  insisted  Dick 
soberly. 

“Oh — well,  I don’t  know  but  that  you’re 
right,  ’ ’ assented  Anstey  slowly.  “ Yes ; I ’m  cer- 
tain you  are.  ’ ’ 

“Hullo,  you  raw-looking  rookies,”  hailed 
Dodge,  halting  and  looking  in  through  the  door- 
way. 


122  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


‘‘Come  in  here  a minute,  Dodge,”  urged  An- 
stey. 

For  an  instant  Dodge  looked  suspicious.  Then 
he  muttered: 

“As  you’re  not  yearlings,  I accept  the  invita- 
tion.” 

Very  spick  and  span  Dodge  looked  as  he  en- 
tered the  tent.  As  a member  of  the  guard  he 
wore  a pair  of  immaculate  white  duck  trousers, 
which  held  the  “spooniest”  crease  imaginable. 
His  gray  coat  and  white  gloves  made  him  look 
more  the  dandy  than  usual. 

“We’ve  something  to  tell  you,  Dodge,  ’ ’ Anstey 
continued  almost  in  a whisper,  as  the  four  plebes 
stood  in  a close  bunch.  “At  least,  old  ramrod 
says  we  ought  to  tell  you.” 

Then,  lowering  his  voice  still  more,  Anstey 
gave  an  outline  of  what  the  new  yearlings  were 
supposed  to  try  to  do  to  the  lonely  plebe  on  post 
number  three  at  the  hour  when  ghosts  walk. 

“Humph!”  rejoined  Dodge  quickly.  “Let 
the  yearlings  try  that  sort  of  trick,  if  they  dare ! 
Have  those  fellows  no  idea  of  the  sacred  posi- 
tion of  trust  held  by  a United  States  sentinel? 
For  I,  on  sentry  duty,  represent  the  sovereignty 
of  the  United  States  just  as  much  as  does  any 
soldier  patrolling  a lonely  post  in  the  face  of  the 
enemy  in  war  time!” 

“All  very  well,”  grinned  Dick.  “But  how 


AT  WEST  POINT 


123 


are  you  going  to  prove  it,  if  the  yearlings  catch 
you  napping  to-night?” 

“They  won’t,”  retorted  Dodge  pompously. 
“They  shan’t.  And  if  any  fellow,  I don’t  care 
who  he  is,  tries  to  rush  my  post  to-night  he’ll 
feel  the  steel  of  one  of  Uncle  Sam’s  bayonets 
prodding  him  in  the  tenderest  part  of  his  worth- 
less carcass!” 

“Look  out,  Dodge!”  cautioned  Greg  softly. 
“Don’t  let  any  of  the  yearlings  hear  you  can- 
ning a brag  like  that,  or  they’ll  get  you  if  they 
have  to  turn  out  the  whole  class  after  taps  to 
do  the  job.” 

“Let  ’em  try  it!”  insisted  Dodge.  “And  you 
fellows  are  at  liberty  to  tell  anyone  that  I said 
it.” 

With  that  the  speaker  turned  and  strolled  out 
of  the  tent,  looking  rather  miffed. 

“The  pompous  old  idiot!”  muttered  Anstey, 
in  a tone  of  pained  disgust.  “Oh,  why  did  ever 
fond  parents  let  a mentally  irresponsible  chap 
like  that  come  to  a place  like  West  Point  for 
anyway  ? ’ ’ 

“Our  skirts  are  clear,  anyway,”  remarked 
Dick  Prescott  consolingly.  “We  told  him  all  we 
knew.  If  he  doesn’t  act  upon  it,  it’s  his  rifle, 
not  ours,  that  gets  fouled.” 

Dodge  not  only  believed  the  hoax  to  be  im- 
possible, with  him  on  number  three,  but  he  was 


124  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

incautious  enough  to  talk  about  it  freely  among 
the  plebes  during  the  day. 

As  was  almost  certain  to  happen,  one  of  the 
yearlings  heard  Dodge  sounding  his  trumpet  of 
brag.  That  yearling,  on  the  other  side  of  a tent 
wall,  grinned,  and  presently  took  counsel  with 
other  yearlings. 

It  was  almost  at  the  stroke  of  taps  that  night 
when  Bert  Dodge  marched  from  guard  tent  with 
the  relief  under  Cadet  Corporal  Hasbrouck. 

As  the  other  sentry  on  number  three  fell  in, 
and  Dodge  stepped  out  to  take  up  his  vigil, 
Corporal  Hasbrouck  gave  added  instructions  to 
the  new  and  untried  sentry. 

“Sometimes,  Mr.  Dodge,  this  post  has  been 
known  to  be  about  as  dangerous  as  one  in  war 
time.  ’ ’ 

“Yes,  sir,”  answered  Dodge  respectfully,  as 
he  was  bound  to.  Then  as  the  cadet  corporal 
marched  on  with  the  relief,  Dodge  glanced  after 
the  vanishing  squad  to  mutter  to  himself: 

“What  a lot  of  nonsense.  I’d  like  to  see  any- 
one rush  me ! ’ ’ 

“I  wonder  what  Dodge  will  do  on  number 
three  to-night,”  yawned  Anstey,  just  before  the 
three  tentmates  fell  asleep. 

“Oh,  I wonder  what  it  will  be,”  grinned 
Greg. 

Then  the  three  went  sound  asleep. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


125 


Dick  turned  later  and  awoke  just  in  time  to 
hear  the  voice  of  a sentry  calling: 

“Half  past  eleven!  Post  number  one,  and 
all’s  we-ell!” 

Then,  a little  further  away,  another  voice  took 
up  the  refrain: 

“Post  num-ber  two,  and  all’s  we-ell!” 

“Jupiter!”  gasped  sleepy  Prescott,  becoming 
instantly  wide  awake.  “Post  number  three 
doesn’t  answer.  They’ve  gone  and  got  old 
Dodge.” 

There  was  a rapid  sound  of  feet  in  the  com- 
pany street  as  Corporal  Hasbrouck  and  the 
guard  rushed  along  at  double  quick. 

“Hey,  you — wake  up!”  commanded  Dick, 
vigorously  prodding  the  plebe  sleepers  on  either 
side  of  him. 

1 1 All  present,  sir ! ’ ’ sleepily  mumbled  Anstey. 

“What’s  up!”  demanded  Greg,  sitting  up. 

“The  very  deuce!”  retorted  Dick.  “There! 
Listen  to  that!” 

“Bang!”  sounded  a rifle  report.  Then  Cor- 
poral Hasbrouck ’s  bellowing  voice  could  be 
heard : 

‘ ‘ Officer  of  the  day,  post  number  three ! ’ ’ 

Some  one  could  be  heard  running  down  the 
street.  A few  moments  passed,  during  which 
Dick,  Greg  and  Anstey  sat  up  on  their  mat- 
tresses listening  eagerly 


126  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


Then  came  the  officer  of  the  day  running  back. 

There  was  another  brief  pause,  or  just  long 
enough  for  the  officer  of  the  day  to  make  a re- 
port to  the  0.  C.  and  to  receive  orders. 

Tr-r-rat-tat-tat-tat ! The  drummers  at  guard 
tent  were  running  out  the  crisp  summons  of 
assembly. 

“Get  up!  Tumble  out  lively  for  general  roll 
call ! ’ ’ muttered  Dick,  springing  to  his  feet. 

“What  in  the  mischief  can  they  have  done  to 
old  Dodge?”  wondered  Greg  as  he  hurriedly 
pulled  on  his  shoes. 

“You  men  will  turn  out  instantly,”  ordered 
a cadet  corporal,  thrusting  his  head  in  at  the 
tent  doorway.  “Elaborate  dressing  isn’t  neces- 
sary. ’ ’ 

Dick  bolted  out,  followed  by  Anstey,  Greg 
bringing  up  the  rear. 

Cadets  by  scores  and  hundreds  were  falling 
in  by  companies,  while  the  company  com- 
manders stood  by  watchful  and  alert. 

Only  the  members  of  the  guard  were  excused 
from  this  assembly. 

Almost  instantly  orders  rang  out  crisply,  and 
the  ranks  closed.  Then  the  cadet  adjutant,  the 
roll  in  his  hands,  began  to  call  the  names  by  com- 
panies, holding  a pencil  in  readiness  to  check 
down  any  cadet  found  absent. 

Back  of  the  adjutant  stood  the  cadet  officer 


'AT  WEST  POINT 


127 


of  the  day  and  Captain  Vesey,  of  the  Army,  who 
was  the  tac.  doing  duty  as  O.  C. 

The  calling  of  the  roll,  while  the  cadets  stood 
in  ranks,  wondering,  brought  a surprise  to  Cap- 
tain Vesey.  Every  cadet  supposed  to  he  in  camp 
was  present  or  satisfactorily  accounted  for. 

“When  dismissed,”  rang  the  cadet  adjutant’s 
voice,  “men  not  on  duty  will  return  to  their 
tents  and  finish  the  night’s  rest.  Dismiss  by 
companies.” 

As  the  drowsy  cadets  turned  back  to  their  com- 
pany streets  there  was  a buzz  of  eager,  under- 
toned conversation.  Some  of  the  men  of  the 
guard  threw  in  enough  information  so  that  the 
main  part  of  the  story  became  known  and  flew 
like  fire  through  the  camp. 

When  post  number  three  failed  to  answer  at 
half  past  eleven  Corporal  Hasbrouck  and  a 
squad  of  the  guard  went  to  that  post  in  double- 
quick  time. 

Dodge  was  found  to  be  absent  from  his  post, 
but  his  rifle,  with  bayonet  fixed,  was  securely 
tied  to  a near-by  bush  in  the  position  of  “port 
arms.  ’ ’ 

Dodge  simply  was  not  to  be  found.  At  one 
point  signs  of  a scuffle  had  been  found,  but  the 
trail,  after  starting  down  the  slope,  soon  dis- 
appeared. 

Cadet  Dodge  could  not  be  found.  No  one,  un- 


128  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


less  some  unidentified  hazers,  knew  where  that 
young  sentry  was. 

Assembly  had  been  sounded  and  all  cadets 
called  out  for  roll  call  in  order  that  it  might  be 
learned  what  cadets,  if  any,  were  absent  from 
camp  without  authority.  But  roll  call  had  failed 
to  show  any  absentees. 

Captain  Vesey  was  furious.  So  was  Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel Strong,  the  commandant  of  ca- 
dets, who  had  just  been  summoned,  and  who  was 
now  at  the  tac.  tent  questioning  Hasbrouck  and 
others. 

Through  the  night  no  trace  was  found  of  Mr. 
Dodge. 


CHAPTER  XII 


PRESCOTT  GETS  NUMBER  THREE 

WHEN  the  cadet  battalion  marched  off  to 
mess  the  following  morning  the  mys- 
tery of  Cadet  Dodge’s  whereabouts 
was  as  big  a mystery  as  ever. 

At  the  tent  of  the  0.  C.,  however,  things  were 
seething.  As  soon  as  the  battalion  returned  to 
camp  cadets  were  sent  for  in  rapid  succession. 

However,  the  trail  remained  as  blind  as  ever. 
The  various  detachments  were  ordered  out  for 
drill  or  practical  instruction. 

Our  three  young  cadets  were  marched  nearly 
two  miles  for  instruction  in  target  practice.  At 
the  outset  this  work  was  with  the  gallery  rifle 
at  short  ranges. 

At  the  close  of  practice  the  squad  was  marched 
back  over  the  dusty  roads. 

“Dodge  has  been  found,”  was  the  smiling 
word  passed  around  as  this  detachment  of 
plebes  was  dismissed  inside  camp  limits. 
“Where?  How?  When?” 

The  amazing  story  was  told  with  a good  deal 
of  quiet  laughter.  • 

At  about  half  past  eight  this  morning  one  of 
the  workmen  employed  in  a lumber  yard  at 


130  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


Garrison,  across  the  river,  walking  in  behind 
a pile  of  lumber  close  to  the  river,  was  amazed 
to  find  a pillow  slip  lying  on  the  ground.  What 
was  much  more  astonishing  was  the  fact  that 
a waist  and  a pair  of  legs  protruded  from  the 
pillowcase,  and  the  feet  were  bound. 

The  workman,  a dull-witted  fellow,  thought 
he  had  stumbled  upon  a case  of  murder,  and 
rushed  back  to  the  office.  The  manager  there- 
upon hurried  to  the  spot  and  the  mystery  was 
quickly  solved. 

The  pillowcase  being  removed,  they  saw  Mr. 
Dodge,  bound  and  gagged. 

He  was  promptly  set  free  and  questioned. 
But  he  refused  any  information  to  the  manager 
of  the  lumber  yard,  beyond  stating  that  he  had 
been  the  victim  of  an  outrage. 

On  the  next  trip  of  the  ferry  across  the  river 
Mr.  Dodge  returned,  the  lumber  yard  manager 
accompanying  him.  Mr.  Dodge  had  reported, 
with  a very  crestfallen  air,  at  the  guard  tent, 
and  from  there  had  been  hurried  on  to  Captain 
Vesey’s  tent.  Now  the  story  came  out. 

Mr.  Dodge  had  just  given  the  eleven  o’clock 
hail,  the  night  before,  when  he  was  suddenly 
seized  from  behind  and  thrown  flat.  A pillow- 
case was  slipped  over  his  head  while  he  was 
held  by  so  many  that  struggling  was  out  of 
the  question.  By  the  time  the  pillowcase  had 


AT  WEST  POINT 


131 


been  pulled  down  over  his  head  Mr.  Dodge  also 
discovered  that  he  had  been  swiftly  but  most 
effectively  bound. 

For  the  rest  he  knew  only  that  he  had  been 
carried  down  the  slope,  unable  to  give  any  alarm, 
and  that  he  had  been  lifted  into  a boat,  taken 
over  the  river  and  dumped  in  the  lumber  yard. 
Here  he  had  spent  the  rest  of  the  night  and  the 
early  morning  until  found.  He  had  tried,  re- 
peatedly, to  free  himself,  but  had  failed. 

This  was  all  the  material  on  which  Captain 
Yesey,  and  his  superior,  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Strong,  had  upon  which  to  work,  save  for 
Dodge’s  admission  that  he  had  been  warned,  the 
day  before,  by  Cadets  Prescott,  Holmes  and 
Anstey.  These  three  were  accordingly  sum- 
moned to  the  0.  C.  ’s  tent  and  asked  to  explain. 

“Mr.  Prescott,”  asked  Captain  Yesey,  “why 
did  you  warn  Mr.  Dodge?  What  information 
had  you  that  such  an  outrage  on  a sentry  was 
being  planned?” 

“I  knew  only  what  Mr.  Anstey  had  told  me, 
sir,”  replied  Dick  at  once. 

“Mr,  Anstey,”  demanded  Captain  Vesey, 
turning  to  the  Virginian,  “what  information  did 
you  have,  and  how  did  you  obtain  it?” 

Back  of  the  0.  C.  sat  the  K.  C.  (commandant 
of  cadets),  his  dark  eyes  fixed  upon  the  wit- 
nesses. 


132  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


“All  the  information  I had,  sir,  was  what  a 
young  cit.  with  whom  I talked  yesterday  morning 
told  me  about  pranks  that  had  been  played  in 
past  years  upon  plebes  who  had  the  late  tour  of 
post  number  three.” 

‘ 4 Your  statement  is  that  you  had  a conversa- 
tion with  a citizen,  and  that  he  told  you  of 
pranks  that  had  been  played  in  former  years?” 
“Yes,  sir;  that  was  the  intent  of  my  state- 
ment.” 

“The  citizen  with  whom  you  talked  did  not 
give  you  any  hint  that  a trick  might  he  played 
last  night?” 

“No,  sir;  only  in  the  general  way  that  the 
citizen’s  stories  made  me  half  suspect  that  some- 
thing might  he  tried  last  night.” 

“Because  Mr.  Dodge  was  a plebe?” 

“Yes,  sir.” 

“And  also  because  the  plebe  was  Mr.  Dodge?” 
Anstey  hesitated  an  instant,  then  shot  out 
promptly : 

“Yes,  sir.” 

“Why  did  you  think  that  Mr.  Dodge  was  ex- 
tremely likely  to  be  singled  out?” 

Cadet  Anstey  flushed  and  again  hesitated. 
“You  are  not  required  to  say  anything  dis- 
tinctly to  the  discredit  or  disadvantage  of  Mr. 
Dodge,  but  you  are  required,  Mr.  Anstey,  to 
give  any  information  that  will  aid  the  authorities 


AT  WEST  POINT 


133 


in  running  down  this  outrage  and  its  perpetra- 
tors. Again,  sir,  why  did  you  imagine  that  Mr. 
Dodge  would  be  singled  out?” 

“I  knew,  sir,  that  a good  many  upper  class 
men  regarded  Mr.  Dodge  as  being  decidedly 
b.  j.,”  the  Virginian  admitted  reluctantly. 

“Then  you  attribute  this  affair  to  Mr.  Dodge’s 
unpopularity  with  some  of  the  upper  class 
men?” 

“I  wouldn’t  say,  sir,  that  Mr.  Dodge  is  un- 
popular, but  I think,  sir,  that  some  of  the  upper 
class  men  feel  that  Mr.  Dodge  needs  taking  in 
hand.  ’ ’ 

“For  hazing?” 

“For — er— well,  sir — for  general  training.” 

“That  is  hazing — nothing  more  nor  less,” 
broke  in  the  K.  C.  coldly.  “And  we  shall  leave 
no  stone  unturned  to  stop  this  hazing  and  to 
punish  all  perpetrators  of  hazing.” 

“Did  Mr.  Dodge  accept  your  warning?”  con- 
tinued Captain  Vesey. 

“He  did  not,  sir.” 

“Mr.  Anstev,  on  your  word  as  a cadet  and 
a gentleman,  you  have  told  me  all  you  know 
of  the  affair?” 

“Yes,  sir.” 

“Mr.  Prescott,  on  your  word  as  a cadet  and 
a gentleman,  have  you  told  me  all  you  know?” 

“Yes,  sir,”  Dick  replied.  “That  is,  sir,  all 


134  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


except  what  is  common  knowledge  to  all,  your- 
self included,  sir.” 

“Mr.  Holmes,  have  you  any  knowledge  bear- 
ing on  this  subject,  in  addition  to  what  has  been 
stated  by  these  other  cadets?” 

“None,  sir.” 

“That  is  all  for  the  present,”  nodded  Captain 
Vesey.  “You  may  go.” 

As  soon  as  the  cadets  were  out  of  hearing 
the  “tac.”  turned  to  the  K.  C. 

“The  motive  back  of  this  outrage  on  a sentry 
is  all  quite  clear  to  me,  Colonel,”  spoke  the  sub- 
ordinate officer.  “Dodge  is  an  unpopular  and 
b.  j.-ish  fellow.  He  has  undoubtedly  been  mak- 
ing his  brags  that  he’d  bag  any  yearlings  who 
tried  to  interfere  with  him  on  post.  Some  of 
the  yearlings  must  have  taken  up  the  challenge.” 
“Yet  at  roll  call  last  night,  which  was  held  at 
once,  every  cadet  responded  or  was  properly  ac- 
counted for,”  broke  in  the  K.  C.  savagely. 

“Yes,  Colonel;  but  the  young  men  had  nearly 
half  an  hour  in  which  to  work.” 

“They  couldn’t  have  rowed  both  ways  across 
the  Hudson  and  have  gotten  back  into  camp  in 
time  for  that  swift  roll  call,”  retorted  Colonel 
Strong. 

“Even  that  part  of  the  affair  doesn’t  seem 
very  puzzling  to  me,  sir,”  replied  Captain  Va- 
sey.  “Assuming  that  yearlings  bagged  Mr. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


135 


Dodge,  as  I think  they  did,  they  may  have  had 
citizen  friends  at  hand  to  carry  out  the  rest 
of  the  affair  with  a boat.  They  may  even  have 
arranged  with  soldiers  belonging  to  one  of  the 
Army  detachments  here.” 

‘ The  only  matter  of  importance  now,  Captain 
Vesey,  is  to  find  out  just  which  cadets,  if  cadets 
were  engaged  in  the  outrage,  seized  Mr.  Dodge 
on  his  post.” 

“In  ferreting  them  out,  Colonel,  I will  fol- 
low to  the  last  extremity  any  instructions  you 
may  give  me,  sir,”  promised  Captain  Yesey. 

The  K.  C.  tugged  hard  at  his  moustache,  then 
scowled  harder  than  before. 

“What  do  you  think  the  chances  are,  Vesey, 
of  our  finding  the  perpetrators?” 

“Frankly,  Colonel,  I don’t  think  we  have  a 
chance  in  a million,  unless  some  yearling  con- 
cerned in  the  matter  voluntarily  confesses.” 

“A  yearling  voluntarily  confess !”  snorted  the 
K.  C.  rising.  “Bah!” 

Captain  Vesey  smiled  after  his  superior  offi- 
cer had  stalked  out  of  the  tent.  It  is  just 
barely  possible  that  the  younger  officer,  remem- 
bering some  prank  of  his  own  yearling  days, 
wasn’t  extraordinarily  anxious  to  detect  year- 
lings in  an  offense  that  would  result  in  depriving 
the  Army  of  the  further  services  of  some  very 
bright  and  resourceful  young  men. 


136  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


Hot,  dusty,  perspiring’,  first  class  men,  year- 
lings and  plebes  came  back  to  camp  in  detach- 
ments from  various  tours  of  drill  and  instruc- 
tion, The  only  cadets  who  looked  at  all  fresh 
were  the  members  of  the  guard,  who  were  ex- 
cused from  the  day’s  drills.  Yet  for  these  re- 
turning ones,  late  in  the  afternoon  of  a sizzling 
hot  day,  there  was  no  immediate  rest.  Some  of 
the  cadets  came  back  in  service  clothes,  others 
in  khaki,  still  others  in  field  costume  of  campaign 
hat,  flannel  shirt,  gray  trousers  and  leggins.  Im- 
mediately the  young  men  in  all  these  varieties 
of  uniform  disappeared  within  their  tents. 
There  was  a subdued  sound  of  great  bustle. 
Then,  almost  in  the  same  instant,  it  seemed,  ca- 
dets stepped  from  the  various  tents  into  the  open. 
Each  was  immaculate,  very  nearly  glorious  in 
spotless,  faultlessly  pressed  white  duck  trousers, 
topped  by  the  gray  full-dress  coat  and  hat.  Each 
cadet  carried  his  rifle  now,  except  for  the  cadet 
officers,  who  wore  their  swords. 

With  almost  dizzying  speed,  after  the  return 
and  the  dressing,  the  assembly  was  sounded. 
The  company  to  which  Dick  and  his  mates  be- 
longed was  then,  at  the  command,  formed  and 
inspected,  marched  across  the  plain,  over 
to  the  parade  ground,  where  hundreds  of  girls, 
in  bright-hued  dresses,  and  other  visitors  to 
West  Point  awaited  their  coming. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


137 


With  the  cadet  adjutant  and  cadet  sergeant- 
major  in  place  as  guides,  the  company  came  to 
its  place  in  battalion  formation.  Other  com- 
panies marched  in,  and  parade  rest  was  ordered. 
Now,  at  the  command,  a few  movements  in  the 
manual  of  arms  were  executed,  the  battalion 
presenting  a beautiful  line  of  gray,  white  and 
flashing  steel.  Next  the  band,  playing  gayly, 
marched  from  left  of  line,  before  the  battalion, 
halting  in  place  beyond  the  right  of  line.  Fifes 
and  drums  sounded  the  retreat.  The  sunset  gun 
boomed  over  the  hollow  beyond ; down  came  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  on  one  more  day  of  national 
life,  while  the  band  played  “The  Star  Spangled 
Banner”  and  all  the  men  and  boys  among  the 
spectators,  including  several  on-looking  Army 
officers,  uncovered  their  heads,  standing  rigidly 
at  attention.  It  was  an  awe-inspiring  moment  to 
one  who  could  feel  the  thrill  of  patriotism.  This 
whole  ceremony  of  dress  parade  had  about  it 
the  impressive  solemnity  of  religious  worship. 

There  were  yet  some  more  formalities.  Then 
the  young  men  were  marched  back.  A few  min- 
utes after  the  sunset  gun  the  men  were  once 
more  in  their  own  company  streets,  and,  for  all 
cadets  except  those  of  the  guard,  the  work  day 
was  over.  In  the  evening  there  was  to  be  a cadet 
hop  at  Cullom  Hall,  at  which  many  of  the  bright- 
faced girls  who  had  watched  dress  parade  would 


138  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


be  present.  The  evening  after  there  would  be 
a band  concert  in  camp.  So  the  nights  of  the 
cadet  summer  were  passed. 

But  the  hops  were  not  for  the  plebes.  They 
could  dance  only  in  the  day  time,  under  the 
watchful  eyes  of  the  dancing  instructor,  for 
every  plebe  must  take  dancing  lessons  in  summer 
until  he  has  been  pronounced  qualified.  To  a 
cadet  hop,  though  there  is  no  official  rule  against 
it,  no  plebe  ever  presumes  to  go.  Nor  may  he, 
for  that  matter,  mingle  in  the  social  life  with 
the  young  lady  visitors  at  the  post.  He  may 
try  it,  of  course,  but  no  well-informed  girl  will 
allow  a plebe  to  take  the  chances.  If  a plebe  is 
caught  actually  paying  attention  to  any  young 
woman  the  upper  class  men  take  care  of  him 
in  their  own  effective  way.  A plebe,  like  any 
other  cadet,  must  show  courtesy  to  any  woman 
who  addresses  him ; beyond  that  the  young  man 
must  not  go  during  his  plebedom.  “Flirtation 
Walk”  is  close  by,  but  no  plebe  ever  dares  to 
stroll  there. 

This  being  the  night  of  the  hop,  the  upper 
class  men  were  busy  with  their  toilets  as  soon 
as  they  returned  from  supper;  or  as  many  of 
them  were  as  had  arranged  to  “drag  a femme” 
to  the  hop.  This  is  cadet  parlance  for  escorting 
a young  lady  to  the  dance.  However,  some  up- 
per class  men  notoriously  avoid  attending  hops. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


139 


“It’s  a fine  thing,  isn’t  it,”  growled  Greg  that 
evening,  “to  take  a lot  of  dancing  lessons  every 
week,  and  then,  when  the  night  comes  around,  to 
stroll  through  the  company  streets  and  listen 
to  the  orchestra  in  the  distance.” 

“I’m  not  complaining,”  Dick  replied. 

“Yet  you  used  to  be  fond  of  dancing.” 

“I  am  now.  ” 

“Then  why  don’t  you  yearn  to  go  to  a hop?” 

“Ido.  But  see  here,  Greg.  The  fellow  makes 
the  best  soldier,  in  the  end,  I’ll  wager,  who  learns 
to  keep  his  greatest  desires  in  check.  All  the 
restrictions  thrown  around  the  plebe  by  custom 
are  intended  to  make  him  the  better  man,  soldier 
and  officer  by  teaching  him  to  wait  until  his 
time  comes.” 

“I  congratulate  you,  mister,”  spoke  a low  but 
hearty  voice  from  the  doorway  of  a tent  the 
two  plebes  were  passing.  “You’re  coming  on, 
mister.  Grin  and  bear  it.  You’ll  be  happy  one 
of  these  days ! ’ ’ 

Dick  and  Greg  glanced  backward  over  their 
shoulders  to  see  that  the  speaker  was  Mr.  Rey- 
nolds, member  of  the  new  first  class  and  a cadet 
captain.  Reynolds  usually  attended  the  hops. 
But  for  to-night  he  had  only  a telegram  in  the 
breast  of  his  coat  in  the  place  of  the  cherished 
“femme”  whom  he  had  hoped  to  “drag.”  As 
he  stood  in  his  doorway,  looking  up  at  the  in- 


140  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

scrutable  stars,  Cadet  Captain  Reynolds  was 
taking  his  own  lesson  in  patient  waiting. 

“Thank  you,  sir/’  Dick  replied  in  a low  tone, 
then  faced  front  again. 

That  night  another  plebe  was  on  post  number- 
three  during  the  tour  ending  at  midnight.  He 
was  not  molested,  however,  which  was  most  for- 
tunate for  mischief-loving  yearlings,  for  the 
K.  C.  had  stationed  two  tacs.  in  hiding  close  by, 
to  be  promptly  on  hand  in  case  of  any  attempted 
trouble. 

A few  nights  later  it  came  Dick  Prescott’s  turn 
to  take  the  late  tour  on  post  number  three.  He 
was  both  apprehensive  and  watchful,  but  when 
the  relief  picked  him  up  at  midnight  he  had  no 
report  of  any  kind  to  make. 

It  was  well  enough  known  throughout  cadet 
camp  that  the  superintendent  and  all  his  sub- 
ordinates were  bent  sternly  on  stopping  or  se- 
verely punishing  any  attempts  to  interfere  with 
sentries. 

As  the  weeks  of  hard  work  passed,  and  no 
more  mysteries  fell  over  post  number  three  it 
began  to  be  felt  that  plebes  might  thereafter 
walk  there  on  the  darkest  night  without  worry. 

One  day  in  July  Dick  found  himself  again  on 
guard,  with  post  number  three  for  the  “ghosts’ 
promenade” — that  is,  the  tour  ending  at  mid- 
night. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


141 


“Don’t  feel  too  secure,  will  you,  old  man?” 
begged  Anstey.  “Watch  out,  just  the  same, 
won’t  you?” 

“I  always  take  that  post  as  though  it  were 
one  of  especial  danger,”  Dick  answered  seri- 
ously. 

Which  was  well  indeed,  for  Yearlings  Davis, 
Graham  and  Poultney  were  even  then  plotting 
behind  the  walls  of  their  tent. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


THE  SENTRY  MAKES  A CAPTURE 


€t 


p 


OST  number  one! 
all’s  well.” 

“Post  number  two! 


Eleven  o’clock,  and 
Eleven  o’clock, 


and  all ’s  well ! ’ ’ 

Cadet  Prescott,  midway  on  his  post,  came  to 
a halt,  bringing  his  rifle  to  port  arms. 

“Post  number  three!  Eleven  o’clock,  and 
all’s  well.” 

Nor  did  the  plebe  return  his  rifle  to  his  shoul- 
der and  resume  pacing  until  he  heard  the  hail 
taken  up  and  repeated  by  the  man  on  number 
four.  Thus  the  call  traveled  the  rounds,  back 
to  number  one,  and  died  out. 

Just  an  instant  later  Plebe  Prescott  became 
suspicious  that  something  was  wrong  in  his  im- 
mediate vicinity. 

Bain  was  threatening,  and  the  sultry  night 
was  so  dark  that,  on  this  shaded  post,  the  young 
sentry  could  see  barely  a few  yards  away  from 
him. 

Yet  Dick  was  certain  he  saw  something  flash 
darkly  by,  not  far  away.  It  could  hardly  have 
been  a shadow.  Whatever  it  was,  a clump  of 
bushes  now  concealed  the  moving  something. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


143 


“Halt!  Who’s  there!”  hailed  Cadet  Pres- 
cott. He  stopped  to  listen,  bringing  his  rifle 
once  more  down  to  port  arms. 

There  was  no  response. 

Certain,  however,  that  his  senses  had  not  been 
deluded,  the  young  sentry  stepped  quickly 
toward  the  clump  of  bushes. 

From  the  other  side  of  the  bushes  came  a sud- 
den sound  of  scrambling. 

“Halt!  WTio’s  there!”  demanded  Prescott 
again. 

Whoever  it  was,  and  plainly  there  was  more 
than  one  man  there,  the  prowlers  had  no  mind  to 
be  held  up  by  the  sentry  or  the  guard. 

“Halt,  or  I’ll  run  a bayonet  into  you!” 
shouted  Prescott  resolutely.  “Corporal  of  the 
guard,  post  number  three!”  he  bellowed  aloud. 

At  the  same  time  he  was  darting  after  the  fu- 
gitives, whom  it  was  too  dark  to  distinguish. 
From  the  very  little  that  his  eyes  could  make 
out,  however,  it  was  his  belief  that  the  running 
men  were  cadets. 

Then  one  must  have  stumbled  and  fallen,  for 
a figure  lay  between  two  bushes  as  Prescott 
dashed  up. 

“Don’t  you  attempt  to  rise  until  you  get  the 
word,  or  you’ll  feel  the  jab  of  my  bayonet,” 
warned  Dick. 

He  couldn’t  follow  the  others  much  further, 


144  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR' 


anyway,  as  lie  had  no  authority  to  leave  his  post. 
The  man  on  number  four  must  have  heard,  and 
would  he  alert. 

“Where  are  you,  number  three  sentry?”  came 
Cadet  Corporal  Brodie’s  hail. 

“Here,  sir!”  Dick  answered.  He  still  stood 
watching  the  figure  that  lay  in  the  shadow 
of  the  bushes.  The  fallen  one  had  not  at- 
tempted to  move.  Dick  Prescott  was  close 
enough  to  make  a thrust  with  his  bayonet- 
tipped  rifle  if  the  fallen  one  made  any  effort  to 
leap  up. 

That  was  as  close  as  Dick  intended  to  get  until 
help  was  at  hand,  for  an  old  trick  with  cadets 
running  the  guard  on  a dark  night  on  this  lonely 
stretch  was  to  wait  until  the  sentry  got  close 
enough,  then  to  reach  out  and  grab  him  by  the 
ankles,  throwing  him. 

Always,  when  such  a trick  was  played  suc- 
cessfully, the  offender  would  be  up,  off  and  safe 
by  the  time  the  thrown  sentry  was  on  his  own 
feet  again. 

So  Prescott,  without  in  the  least  intending  to 
let  his  prisoner  get  away,  did  not  venture  close 
enough  to.  risk  being  pitched  over  on  his  back 
himself. 

“Poor  old  skylarker,  too!  I’m  sorry  for 
him,”  muttered  Dick,  under  his  breath.  “I’m 
afraid  this  spells  trouble  for  some  yearling. 


“Get  Up,  Sir! 9 


AT  WEST  POINT 


147 


What  can  I do,  though?  I show  my  own  unfit- 
ness if  I let  anyone  run  the  guard  past  me.  ’ ’ 

“Call  again,  sentry  on  three!”  directed  the 
voice  of  Corporal  Brodie. 

“Here,  sir,”  Dick  answered. 

Then  to  the  spot  ran  the  corporal,  followed 
by  two  men  of  the  guard. 

“Two  or  more  men  attempted  to  cross  this 
post,  sir,”  Dick  reported.  “One  tripped,  and 
I’m  holding  him.” 

“Head,  him  off,  if  he  attempts  to  run  ahead,” 
directed  Mr.  Brodie,  nodding  to  one  of  his  men 
of  the  guard.  “Now,  then,  get  up,  and  let  us 
see  whether  you’re  a cadet,  or  only  a banker’s 
son.” 

But  the  figure  did  not  rise. 

“Get  up,  sir,  I tell  you,”  ordered  Corporal 
Brodie,  slowly  stepping  past  Prescott. 

But  the  figure  did  not  stir. 

“Perhaps  the  man  fell  and  stunned  himself,” 
muttered  Brodie.  Passing  his  rifle  to  his  left 
hand  the  corporal  parted  the  hushes,  then  bent 
over  the  prostrate  one. 

“Oh,  hang  you!”  growled  the  cadet  corporal. 

He  seized  the  figure  with  his  right  hand, 
yanked  it  upward,  then  hurled  it  out,  letting  it 
fall  again  across  the  post. 

“Is  that  the  man  you  stopped,  Mr.  Prescott?” 
demanded  Corporal  Brodie  in  disgust 


148  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


But  instead  of  answering,  at  tliat  moment, 
Dick  straightened  up,  brought  his  rifle  to  port, 
and  hailed: 

‘ ‘ Halt ! Who ’s  there ? ’ ’ 

“The  officer  of  the  day,”  came  the  response, 
out  of  the  blackness. 

“Advance,  officer  of  the  day,  to  be  recog- 
nized,” Dick  replied. 

Forward  out  of  the  deep  shadow  came  Cadet 
Captain  Reynolds. 

“What’s  the  trouble,  Corporal?”  inquired  the 
latest  arrival. 

“Mr.  Prescott  reports  that  two  or  more  per- 
sons attempted  to  run  across  his  post,  sir.  He 
overtook  one,  who  stumbled.  Mr.  Prescott  was 
guarding  his  prisoner  as  I arrived,  sir,  and  that 
was  the  prisoner!” 

Corporal  Hasbrouck  pointed  in  disdain  at  the 
stuffed  figure  that  he  had  hauled  out  from  under 
the  bushes  and  Dick’s  bayonet. 

“A  stuffed  figure,  in  gray  trousers  and  shirt, 
eh?”  questioned  Captain  Reynolds.  “Sentry, 
were  the  two  or  three  men  who  got  away  from 
you  of  the  same  composition  ? ’ ’ 

“I  don’t  know,  sir,”  Dick  answered,  with  mor- 
tification. “All  I know,  sir,  is  that  those  who 
got  away  ran  pretty  fast,  and  made  so  little 
noise  that  they  doubtless  wore  rubber-soled 
shoes.” 


AT  WEST  POINT 


149 


“You’ve  been  hoaxed,  sentry,”  commented 
the  officer  of  the  day  dryly.  “Corporal,  have 
your  men  of  the  guard  bring  the  prisoner  up  to 
the  guard  tent.  Sentry,  if  any  more  straw  men 
attempt  to  cross  your  post,  bring  them  down  as 
well  as  you  did  this  one.  The  straw  men  who 
got  away  from  you  made  their  way  into  camp, 
didn’t  they?” 

“Whoever  escaped,  sir,  got  into  camp  all 
right.  ’ ’ 

As  the  guard-house  party  returned,  Dick  re- 
sumed the  pacing  of  number  three.  ITe  felt  his 
face  still  blazing,  from  the  quiet  ridicule  of  the 
officer  of  the  day. 

“I’ll  catch  it  to-morrow  from  everyone  who 
thinks  me  worth  noticing,”  growled  the  plebe 
to  himself.  “However,  though  I tried  to  do  my 
full  duty,  I’m  glad  that  was  what  I caught.  I 
wouldn’t  care  to  march  a comrade  in,  a pris- 
oner. ’ ’ 


When  the  midnight  relief  came  around,  and 
Prescott’s  relief  was  posted  in  his  place,  the 
young  plebe  knew  the  ordeal  ahead  of  him. 

As  soon  as  the  relieved  squad  was  halted  at 
the  guard  tent,  and  Dick  entered  to  get  himself 
a cup  of  coffee  and  a sandwich  or  two,  his  glance 
fell  upon  the  stuffed  figure,  which  reposed  on 
the  floor  at  the  back  of  the  tent  as  though  it  had 
been  a veritable  prisoner. 


150  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


“Did  you  shoot  it,  Prescott?”  asked  Derwent, 
the  man  who  had  Just  been  relieved  on  number 
four. 

“No;  he  lassoed  it  with  his  neck-tie,”  jeered 
another  man  of  the  guard. 

“Wonder  if  the  prisoner  is  hungry?”  pur- 
sued Derwent.  * ‘ Prescott,  the  prisoner  is  yours. 
Attend  to  his  feeding.  And  the  poor  fellow 
should  have  some  proper  bedding,  too,  a chilly 
night  like  this.  ’ ’ 

“A  merciful  soldier  wouldn’t  eat  until  he  had 
seen  his  prisoner  fed,”  tantalized  another. 

Dick  had  his  cup  of  coffee  at  his  mouth. 

“Prescott,  old  man,”  commented  fat  Smith, 
“you’ll  be  commended  in  general  orders  for 
distinguished  bravery.  ’ ’ 

That  was  enough,  in  itself,  to  make  Dick 
choke,  but  Smith  emphasized  his  remark  by 
slapping  Dick  on  the  back.  An  ounce  of  hot 
coffee,  at  least,  “went  down  the  wrong  way  ” 
Choking  and  gasping  for  breath,  trying  to  ex- 
pel the  coffee  from  his  windpipe,  and  all  the 
while  obliged  to  lean  well  forward  so  as  not  to 
expel  any  of  the  coffee  over  the  front  of  his 
blouse,  Dick,  thought  he  never  would  get  his 
breath  again. 

“Instead  of  feeding  his  prisoner,  I believe  Mr. 
Prescott  has  been  eating  some  of  his  prisoner,” 
observed  Corporal  Hasbrouck  dryly.  “Mr. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


151 


Prescott,  himself,  appears  to  be  full  of  straw 
at  present.” 

The  general  laugh  that  followed  didn’t  make 
it  any  easier  for  the  victim  of  all  this  nonsense. 
In  laughing  again  Dick  choked  so  that  he  began 
to  turn  slightly  black. 

“Dry  up,  you  hyenas!”  ordered  Cadet  Cap- 
tain Reynolds,  as  he  rushed  to  Prescott’s  re- 
lief. In  a few  moments  the  late  sentry  on  num- 
ber three  was  breathing  easily  again.  He  threw 
himself  down  on  a mattress,  and  was  soon  asleep. 

But  in  the  morning  he  had  to  go  through  the 
ordeal  ten-fold.  As  Dick  went  to  his  tent  to 
change  some  articles  of  clothing  Bert  Dodge 
appeared  in  the  company  street. 

“Hey,  mister,”  called  yearling  Davis,  after 
Bert,  “I  hear  good  news.  Last  night  the  guard 
caught  the  chap  who. shanghaied  you.” 

Even  Greg  and  Anstey  were  prepared  to  quiz 
the  “hero”  of  the  comic  episode  of  the  night 
before. 

“That  was  a fine  comic  opera  performance, 
old  chap,”  grinned  Anstey. 

“The  next  time  you  arrest  a lay  figure,”  sug- 
gested Greg,  “at  least  be  good  enough  to  cap- 
ture one  that ’s  stuffed  with  lemons.  ’ ’ 

“Oh,  the  straw  figure  was  a lemon,  of  a kind,” 
laughed  the  Virginian. 

“Did  the  prisoner  yell  when  you  pricked  the 


152  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


point  of  your  bayonet  in  its  flesh  of  husks  ?” 
Greg  wanted  to  know. 

“Do  you  expect  the  K.  C.  to  mention  you  in 
orders  for  distinguished  gallantry?”  demanded 
Anstey. 

“Or  to  skin  you  on  a suspicion  of  stealing 
straw  from  the  artillery  stables?”  snickered 
Greg. 

“I  know  one  funny  thing  about  straw,  any- 
way,” declared  Anstey,  turning  around  to 
Holmes. 

“What?”  asked  Greg. 

“It’s  bound  to  tickle  you,”  declared  the  Vir< 
ginian  gravely. 

Even  at  breakfast,  in  the  cadet  mess,  Dick 
failed  to  get  away  from  his  tormentors.  One 
of  the  yearlings,  seated  at  a table  not  far  from 
the  one  at  which  Prescott  sat,  called  out  to  a 
classmate : 

“Queer  thing  about  that  prisoner  bagged  on 
number  three  last  night.  Did  you  hear  who  the 
prisoner  turned  out  to  be?” 

“No-o-o,”  drawled  the  other  yearling,  while 
a hundred  pairs  of  eyes  were  turned  on  flame- 
faced Prescott. 

“It  was  the  class  president  of  the  beasts” 
(plebes). 

“Kind  of  tough  fate  for  the  prisoner, 
though,”  railed  another. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


153 


“What’s  that!” 

“He’s  been  sentenced  to  death.  He  is  to  be 
used  as  a target  for  the  plebe  squads  in  target 
practice.” 

“That  isn’t  a sentence  of  death;  it’s  a guaran- 
tee of  safety.” 

This  last  sally  turned  the  laugh  on  the  entire 
plebe  class.  Dick  flushed  worse  than  ever  when 
he  saw  many  of  his  classmates  begin  to  squirm. 

“They  might,  at  least,  take  it  all  out  on  me, 
and  leave  the  class  alone,”  muttered  Dick  to 
himself. 

‘ ‘ Where  are  you  going  so  fast,  mister ! ’ ’ hailed 
a yearling,  after  the  return  to  camp,  as  he  be- 
held a plebe  hurrying  down  a company  street. 

“I’m  summoned  as  a witness  before  the  gen- 
eral court-martial,  ’ ’ called  back  Mr.  Plebe,  over 
his  shoulder. 

‘ ‘ Court-martial ! I hadn ’t  heard  there  was  to 
be  one.” 

“Yes,  sir;  they’re  going  to  try  the  prisoner 
caught  on  number  three,  sir.  ’ ’ 

The  yearling  turned  away  grinning,  for  once 
not  deeming  it  necessary  to  rebuke  a “beast” 
for  attempting  to  make  a smart  answer. 

Out  on  the . range,  at  target  practice,  two 
mornings,  later,  Dick  did  some  especially  bad 
shooting. 

“Don’t  be  afraid  of  hitting  the  target,  Mr. 


154  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


Prescott,”  advised  Lieutenant  Gerould  dryly. 
“It’s  made  of  something  more  substantial  than 
straw.” 

A gleeful  roar  went  up  from  some  of  the  other 
“beasts.”  Lieutenant  Gerould  eyed  them  in 
surprise,  for  this  Army  officer  was  one  of  the 
few  at  West  Point  who  had  not  already  heard  of 
number  three  sentry’s  capture. 

It  was  a fortnight  ere  Cadet  Prescott  could 
feel  really  secure  against  more  “joshing”  over 
the  incident. 

“I’m  better  satisfied  than  if  we  had  done  what 
we  set  out  to  do  to  that  plebe,”  remarked  Year- 
ling Davis  to  his  tentmates. 

“Mr.  Prescott  is  a rather  decent  sort — for  a 
mere  plebe,  ’ ’ replied  Poultney.  ‘ ‘ Do  you  know, 
I think  he’s  almost  glad  that  he  caught  the 
dummy  we  rigged  for  him.  I believe  the  little 
beast  would  have  hated  to  catch  a uniform 
stuffed  with  human  flesh.  ’ ’ 


CHAPTER  XIV 

POOS  GEEG  can’t  EXPLAIN 

THE  weeks  slipped  by,  though  not  without 
the  friction  of  sincerely  hard  work. 

Dick,  Greg  and  many  of  their  class- 
mates, toiling,  marching,  drilling  under  the  hot 
sun  that  shone  on  the  West  Point  plain  and 
drill  areas,  acquired  deep  coats  of  manly  tan  on 
faces,  necks  and  hands. 

In  many  a story  of  West  Point  life  the  summer 
encampment  is  made  to  appear  “the  good  old 
summer  time”  of  an  Army  career.  The  West 
Point  cadet  knows  better.  It  is  a season  of  the 
hardest  work. 

At  an  hour  when  most  city-dwelling  boys  are 
turning  over  in  bed  for  another  long  and  luxuri- 
ous “snooze”  the  West  Point  cadet  is  up  and 
doing  in  earnest. 

There  is  much  instruction  that  the  young  man 
has  to  absorb.  Merely  to  take  part  is  not 
enough.  The  young  man  must  make  himself 
proficient  in  such  branches  of  the  soldier’s  art 
as  cavalry  tactics,  drill,  horsemanship,  scouting, 
artillery  tactics  and  drill,  with  drill  at  the  guns 
of  different  calibers,  and  target  practice  with 
field,  siege,  mountain,  mortar,  howitzer  and  sea- 


156  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

coast  guns,  with  a lot  of  work  in  the  service  of 
mines. 

Infantry  tactics,  with  unceasing  drill  and  a 
lot  of  target  practice,  provide  a great  amount 
of  work. 

Then  there  is  a wide  range  of  work  to  he 
mastered  in  practical  military  engineering,  with 
the  building  of  field  fortifications,  obstacles, 
spar  and  trestle  bridges,  pontoon  bridges,  mili- 
tary reconnoissance  and  sketching,  map-making, 
surveying,  military  signaling  and  telegraphy, 
wireless  and  telephone  service,  the  making  of 
war  material,  the  managing  and  handling  of 
pack  trains,  field  manoeuvres,  and — well,  it’s  not 
a season  of  ideal  play! 

It  was  toward  the  end  of  this  busy  season  of 
outdoor  life  that  Greg  got  into  his  most  serious 
trouble  up  to  that  time,  with  an  upper  class 
man. 

The  day  had  been  unusually  hot,  even  for 
West  Point.  Those  of  the  upper  class  men  who 
felt  the  call  to  the  evening’s  hop  had  dressed 
with  utmost  eare  and  departed  for  the  ballroom 
and  the  glances  of  soft  eyes. 

An  unusually  large  number,  however,  were  in 
camp  this  evening. 

Tattoo  sounds  at  9.30.  Men  who  wish  are 
privileged  to  make  up  their  beds  and  turn  in 
at  this  hour.  Greg  was  among  the  large  num- 


AT  WEST  POINT 


157 


ber  who  went  to  sleep  soon  after  tattoo  this  sul- 
try night.  For  that  matter,  young  Holmes  was 
lonely,  both  Dick  and  Anstey  having  been  drawn 
for  guard  duty. 

Five  minutes  after  tattoo  Yearlings  Davis  and 
Poultney  sauntered  down  the  company  street. 

“Suzz-zz!  suzz-zz!  Horwack!”  came  sonor- 
ously from  the  tent  solely  occupied  by  Plebe 
Holmes. 

“Great  Washington!”  muttered  Poultney. 
“Who  smuggled  a sawmill  into  camp?” 

“The  disturbance  of  the  peace  comes  from 
this  abode  of  beasts,”  declared  Mr.  Davis,  halt- 
ing and  thrusting  his  head  into  the  tent. 

Greg  did  not  awaken,  but  snored  on  with 
crescendo  effects. 

“We  ought  to  teach  a beast  like  that  a les- 
son,” whispered  Poultney,  as  he,  also,  stared  in 
at  the  unconscious  but  offending  Greg. 

“How?” 

A hurried,  whispered  conference  followed. 
Right  after  that  Mr.  Davis  tied  a stout  cord  to 
the  tent-pole  of  the  khaki  house  across  the  com- 
pany street.  Four  feet  of  this  cord  were  sup- 
ported, in  the  crotches  of  two  imbedded  twigs, 
so  that  the  cord  lay  about  an  inch  and  a half 
above  the  ground  for  a space  of  four  feet  close 
to  the  opposite  tent.  Then  the  balance  of  the 
cord  was  allowed  to  lie  harmless  across  the  com- 


158  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

pany  street.  The  end  of  the  cord  these  two  re- 
sourceful yearlings  tied  to  a noose.  Tiptoeing 
into  Greg’s  tent  they  slipped  the  noose  over  one 
of  Greg’s  forefingers. 

If,  within  the  next  few  minutes,  any  pas- 
sersby  used  that  company  street,  they  plainly 
must  have  passed  on  Greg’s  side  of  the  tho- 
roughfare, and  thus  have  avoided  fouling  with 
the  cord. 

Cadets  who  “drag  femmes”  to  hop,  and  who 
have  to  escort  their  fair  partners  to  hotel,  or 
to  some  officer’s  house  on  the  post,  must  go 
from  Cullum  Hall  with  their  fair  charges,  leave 
them  at  the  destined  gate,  and  then  return  to 
camp,  all  within  a stated,  scheduled  time. 

The  time  it  properly  takes  to  walk  from  Cul- 
lum Hall  to  the  hotel  grounds,  or  to  any  officer’s 
house,  is  all  scheduled  and  kept  track  of  at  the 
guard  tent.  The  young  man  thus  returning  to 
camp  after  taps  reports  to  what  building  he 
escorted  his  “femme,”  and  the  time  of  his  re- 
turn is  noted  on  the  guard  report.  If  the  cadet 
has  overstayed  his  time  he  is  called  to  account 
for  it  the  next  day. 

Yearling  Butler  had  “dragged”  this  evening. 
He  made  guard  tent  on  time,  after  a quick  walk 
hack  to  camp.  Reporting,  Mr.  Butler  saw  the 
time  noted  by  the  amanuensis  of  the  guard. 

Then,  feeling  really  sleepy,  the  yearling  con- 


AT  WEST  POINT 


159 


tinned  at  a rather  brisk  walk  to  the  head  of  his 
company  street,  and  turned  down. 

Just  as  luck  would  have  it  Mr.  Butler  did 
not  pass  on  Greg’s  side  of  the  street,  but  passed 
rather  close  to  the  tent  opposite. 

Certainly  the  yearling’s  eyes  were  not  on  the 
ground.  He  saw  not  the  cord  on  this  side  of  the 
street. 

There  was  a catch,  a trip,  and  Mr.  Butler  went 
to  the  ground,  mussing  the  knees  of  his  spoon- 
iest  pair  of  white  ducks.  Moreover,  he  cut  the 
palm  of  his  right  hand,  slightly,  on  a sharp 
pebble. 

The  pulling  on  the  cord  gave  Greg’s  right 
hand  a sharp  yank,  awakening  the  innocent 
plebe. 

But  Mr.  Butler,  having  swiftly  discovered  the 
cord,  and  having  ascertained  in  what  direction  it 
ran,  made  a dive  into  the  tent  just  in  time  to  see 
Greg  sitting  up  on  his  mattress,  holding  the 
cord. 

“So,  mister,”  gruff ed  the  yearling,  “is  this 
the  way  you  amuse  yourself  late  at  night  ? ’ ’ 

“Why — what ” stammered  Cadet  Holmes. 

“Now,  don’t  try  any  of  that  on  me,”  urged 
Mr.  Butler  angrily.  “Mister,  you’re  caught 
with  the  freight  in  your  possession.  What  are 
you  holding  that  cord  for,  sir?” 

“I — I don’t  know,  sir,”  quavered  Greg,  who 


160  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

was  just  beginning  to  feel  awake  after  bis  rudely 
disturbed  slumber. 

“You — don’t — know!”  retorted  Mr.  Butler,  in 
high  dudgeon. 

“What — what  has  happened,  sir?”  inquired 
Greg. 

To  Mr.  Butler  this  seemed  very  much  like  ad- 
ding insult  to  injury. 

“You  thought  it  was  funny,  did  you,  mister, 
to  rig  a cord  across  the  company  street?”  raged 
the  yearling,  though  he  kept  his  voice  down  to 
a gentlemanly  pitch.  “You  play  tricks  like  that 
on  upper  class  men.  Of  all  the  b.  j.  imps  that 
ever  put  on  gray!  Mister,  all  I’m  sorry  for  is 
that  the  officer  of  the  day,  or  the  0.  C.  didn’t 
trip  over  your  cord!  Or  the  K.  C.  himself!” 

“Now,  I want  to  understand  this,  sir,”  con- 
tended Cadet  Holmes,  rising  from  his  mattress 
and  stepping  forward.  “I’ve  just  been  aroused 
out  of  a sound  sleep,  and  I find  myself  with  a 
cord  tied  to  one  of  my  fingers.  ’ ’ 

“Oh,  you  do,  mister?”  jeered  Mr.  Butler 
harshly. 

“And  you,  sir,  come  into  this  tent  and  ac- 
cuse me  of  something.  What  I am  anxious  to 
know,  sir,  is  what  it  is  that  I am  accused  of.  ’ ’ 

“See  here,  mister,  I’ve  no  more  time  to  waste 
on  a b.  j.  beast.  You’ve  spoiled  my  best  white 
ducks,  and,  incidentally,  my  temper.  You  com- 


/ 


AT  WEST  POINT 


161 


pound  this  by  adding  more  b.  j.-ety.  If  you 
don’t  know  what  I’m  going  to  do  about  it,  wait 
until  you  hear  from  me,  mister!” 

Turning,  very  erect  and  stiff,  in  his  outraged 
dignity,  Mr.  Butler  left  the  tent. 

“Now,  what  on  earth  have  I done,  anyway?” 
wondered  Greg. 

In  his  perplexity  he  stepped  to  the  doorway 
of  his  tent.  He  saw  the  business-like  arrange- 
ment of  the  cord,  and  all  was  clear  to  him,  now. 

“Some  hazer  has  rigged  that  cord  and  tied 
one  end  to  my  finger,”  gasped  Plebe  Holmes. 

Then  a grin  overspread  his  face. 

uWell,  it  was  mighty  clever,  anyway.' 

An  instant  more,  and  the  grin  gave  place  to  a 
serious  look. 

“Clever  or  not,  it  certainly  spells  trouble  for 
me.” 

When  the  cadets  returned  from  breakfast  in 
the  morning,  and  while  Greg  was  finishing  the 
donning  of  field  uniform  for  a forenoon  of  drill, 
a shadow  fell  across  the  doorway  of  the  tent. 

Prescott  and  Anstey  were  still  members  of 
the  guard,  and  therefore  absent. 

“Mr.  Holmes,  I wish  to  speak  with  you,”  an- 
nounced Mr.  Haldane,  of  the  yearling  class. 

“Will  you  come  in,  sir?” 

Haldane  stepped  just  inside  the  tent,  standing 
severely  erect  and  gazing  coldly  at  the  plebe. 


162  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

“Mr.  Butler  demands  a fight  with  you,  mister, 
and  as  early  as  possible.” 

There  was  no  mention  of  possible  apology. 
Evidently  Mr.  Butler  considered  the  affair  one 
that  could  be  remedied  only  by  blows. 

“Mr.  Haldane,  I don’t  wish  to  ask  much  de- 
lay. But  the  two  friends  whom  I shall  want  to 
represent  me  are  on  guard  duty  at  present.  May 
I ask  that  you  see  Mr.  Prescott  ? ’ ’ 

“Very  good,”  acknowledged  Mr.  Haldane, 
and  left  the  tent. 

“Now,  I’m  in  for  it,”  muttered  Greg  ruefully. 
“And  the  queer  part  of  it  is  that  I have  to  fight 
for  a thing  that  I never  did.  But  I’m  not  going 
to  make  any  denials,  now,  unless  Dick  advises 
it.” 

It  was  evening,  after  the  cadets  had  returned 
from  supper,  when  Mr.  Haldane  appeared  and 
asked  for  Prescott.  The  two  stepped  outside 
together,  walking  a little  distance  away  to  make 
the  necessary  arrangements. 

Dick  was  already  in  possession  of  the  few 
facts  that  Greg  had  to  tell  him.  Dick  had  ad- 
vised against  denying  the  prank,  for  the  present, 
anyway. 

“It  would  look  like  playing  the  baby  act,” 
Prescott  had  explained  to  his  chum,  and  in  this 
view  Anstey  agreed. 

Mr.  Haldane  and  Dick  came  to  a speedy  under- 


AT  WEST  POINT 


163 


standing.  The  fight  was  to  take  place  the  next 
morning,  at  the  first  peep  of  daylight. 

Promptly,  however,  the  affair  became  noised 
about  through  camp. 

Butler  was  a considerably  larger  man  than 
Greg,  and  looked  in  every  way  more  powerful. 
Cadet  Corporal  Atwater,  who  was  president  of 
the  yearling  class,  went  to  see  Mr.  Butler 
promptly. 

“At  least,  Butler,  if  you  insist  that  the  fight 
must  be  fought,  let  the  scrap  committee  choose 
one  of  our  class  who  is  down  nearer  to  the 
plebe’s  size,”  urged  Mr.  Atwater. 

“Under  ordinary  conditions,  old  fellow,  I’d 
be  tickled  to  do  it,”  replied  Mr.  Butler.  “But, 
in  a trick  of  this  kind,  I couldn’t  get  any  satis- 
faction out  of  anyone  else  hammering  the  b.  j. 
beast  who  put  up  such  a tumble  for  me.” 

“I’m  thinking  the  scrap  committee  may  in- 
terfere with  your  plans,”  rejoined  Atwater, 
shaking  his  head.  “We  don’t  want  fighting  to 
degenerate  into  the  appearance  of  bullying  op- 
pression of  beasts.  ” 

“I’ll  have  to  abide  by  the  decision  of  the 
scrap  committee,  of  course,”  admitted  Butler. 
“But  I hope  the  fellows  won’t  interfere.” 

Cadet  Corporal  Atwater  promptly  called  the 
scrap  committee  together.  Many  newspaper 
writers,  through  ignorance,  have  condemned  the 


164  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

existence  of  a scrap  committee  at  West  Point, 
claiming  that  it  foments  tights.  The  truth  is  that 
the  scrap  committee  is  a court  of  honor,  formed 
for  adjusting  nice  questions,  and  for  preventing 
unfair  fighting. 

Cadet  Butler  was  summoned  before  the  scrap 
committee,  and  stated  his  case.  The  decision  of 
the  scrap  committee  was  that  a fight  would  have 
to  take  place,  but  that  Mr.  Holmes  was  priv- 
ileged to  request  the  scrap  committee  to  name  a 
yearling  who  was  Holmes ’s  own  size  and  weight, 
this  substitute  to  fight  in  Mr.  Butler’s  place  at 
once. 

Cadet  Corporal  Atwater  thereupon  promptly 
called  at  Greg’s  tent,  and  stated  the  decision 
to  the  three  tentmates. 

“Mr.  Prescott  will  answer  for  me,  sir”  Greg 
replied  respectfully. 

“Sir,”  Dick  answered,  “we  appreciate  the 
decision  of  the  scrap  committee.  We  recognize 
that  we  are  being  used  with  the  utmost  fairness, 
and  that  all  Mr.  Holmes’s  rights  are  being  safe- 
guarded in  the  most  honorable  manner.  Yet, 
sir,  this  fight  has  a peculiar  basis.  More  so  than 
with  most  fights,  I believe,  sir,  this  is  a purely 
persona]  one.  Mr.  Holmes,  therefore,  is  pre- 
pared, sir,  to  give  personal  satisfaction.  While 
the  odds  are  very  distinctly  against  him,  he 
wishes  to  show  that  he  can  take  his  trouncing 


AT  WEST  POINT 


165 


like  a cadet  and  a gentleman.  So,  sir,  with  re- 
newed assurances  of  our  thanks  and  appreci- 
ation, Mr.  Holmes  is  ready  to  meet  Mr.  Butler  at 
daylight.” 

“That  is  well  spoken,  sir,”  replied  Mr.  At- 
water. “I  appreciate  the  grit  of  Mr.  Holmes’s 
decision.” 

The  president  of  the  yearling  class  went  back 
to  acquaint  Mr.  Butler  with  the  outcome. 

Until  close  of  taps  Greg  practiced  various 
blows,  feints  and  dodges  in  foot  work. 

“ You  can ’t  win,  Greg,  ’ ’ advised  Anstey.  ‘ ‘ Of 
course  that’s  out  of  the  question.  But,  before 
you  have  to  lose  the  count  you  want  to  make 
sure  of  giving  Mr.  Butler  enough  facial  deco- 
rations to  keep  him  satisfied  for  some  time  to 
come.  ’ ’ 

At  taps  the  three  tentmates  lay  down  on  their 
mattresses,  Dick  with  an  alarm  clock  close  to 
his  hand. 

Cadets  Prescott  and  Anstey  were  soon  sound 
asleep.  Greg,  however,  lay  awake  for  a long 
time,  thinking — thinking. 

“If  I had  some  of  Dick’s  lightning  speed,  and 
his  capacity  for  sailing  in  like  a cyclonic  fury,” 
thought  Greg.  ‘ ‘ Wfiew,  but  I wish  I had  always 
given  more  attention  to  boxing  than  I have  done. 
I will,  after  this.  ’ ’ 

Finally,  Greg  dozed  off.  The  next  he  knew 


166  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


was  when  a brief,  metallic  “br-r-r-r !”  sounded 
in  the  tent.  In  another  instant  Dick  had  the 
clock  and  was  smothering  the  noise.  Greg 
Holmes  leaped  up.  It  was  the  morning  of  his 
fight ! 


CHAPTER  XV 

GREG  OVERHEARS  A PRETTY  GIRl/s  TRIBUTE 

IN  the  tent  it  was  still  dark.  It  was  at  the  fag- 
end  of  the  night,  the  time  which,  as  mili- 
tary commanders  know,  most  tries  men’s 
bravery. 

The  latter  part  of  the  night  had  been  cool. 
Now,  in  the  brief  space  before  dawn  the  air 
was  positively  chilly. 

Greg  shivered. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  chill  of  the  air.  It  is  also 
extremely  likely  that  Greg  Holmes  dreaded  the 
conflict  that  was  abont  to  come  off  with  big 
Butler. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  Cadet  Holmes  went  on 
briskly  with  his  dressing.  The  bravest  man  is 
he  who,  though  afraid,  goes  straight  ahead  to 
the  goal  of  battle  despite  his  fears. 

Greg  was  more  sensitive  about  blows  than 
was  his  chum.  Until  he  got  into  the  heat  of 
action  Cadet  Holmes  dreaded  the  very  idea  of 
giving  or  taking  a blow.  There  are  many  sol- 
diers like  this;  hut  when  they  get  into  action 
they  are  the  bravest  of  the  brave. 

Dick  and  Anstey  were  also  getting  themselves 
swiftly  in  readiness.  To  Dick,  veteran  of  three 


168  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


West  Point  fights,  the  greatest  cause  for  regret 
seemed  to  lie  in  being  robbed  of  some  of  their 
much-needed  sleep. 

In  almost  no  time,  so  it  seemed,  three  cadeta 
fully  attired  in  uniform,  stole  cautiously  from 
the  tent,  slipping  down  the  company  street. 

Dick  carried  Greg’s  fighting  clothes.  Cadet 
Anstey  carried  a bucket  in  which  lay  a sponge. 

Whether  cadet  sentries  on  guard  deliberately 
aid  in  letting  fight  parties  slip  across  a post 
it  would  be  impossible  to  say.  Certain  it  is 
that  Mr.  Prescott,  in  the  lead,  reconnoitred  care- 
fully, then  crossed  the  post  at  the  point  furthest 
from  the  sentry’s  half-audible  footsteps.  His 
two  friends  slipped  over  with  him. 

The  faint  gray  of  earliest  dawn  was  just  show- 
ing through  the  trees  when  the  plebe  trio  came 
in  sight  of  the  famous  hollow  below  old  Fort 
Clinton. 

Here  already  paced  Mr.  Plympton  and  Mr. 
Connors  of  the  first  class.  They  were  to  take 
charge  of  the  affair. 

“Good  morning,  mister,”  nodded  Mr.  Plymp- 
ton to  Dick,  as  Prescott  came  in  sight  at  the 
head  of  his  party.  Greg  and  Anstey  came  in 
for  no  particular  notice  from  the  first  class  men. 

“Hullo,  But!” 

“Hullo,  old  Conjunction!” 

These  were  the  greetings  that  Butler  received 


AT  WEST  POINT 


169 


when  he  appeared,  followed  by  Haldane  and 
Post.  These  young  men,  being  yearlings,  were 
actually  human  beings.  At  least,  that  was  the 
way  the  plebes  felt. 

Now  the  stripping  began  rapidly.  Each  prin- 
cipal drew  on  a sleeveless  jersey  and  gymnasium 
trousers,  the  latter  secured  by  a belt.  On  the 
feet  were  rubber-soled  shoes,  as  giving  the  best 
chance  for  foothold  on  the  damp  ground. 

The  seconds  began  kneading  the  muscles  of 
their  principals,  and  otherwise  putting  them  in 
shape. 

Mr.  Butler  yawned  two  or  three  times,  appear- 
ing slightly  bored.  Greg  did  not  glance  in  the 
direction  of  his  coming  antagonist,  but  Holmes’s 
face  was  impassive,  inscrutable.  He  did  not  ap- 
pear nervous.  The  moment  had  come,  and  Greg 
faced  the  situation  dumbly  but  absolutely  with- 
out fear. 

Then  the  principals  were  placed  in  their  cor- 
ners. Beferee  Plympton  stated  the  terms  under 
which  the  meeting  was  to  be  held.  Then  at  the 
call,  the  two  cadets  leaped  forward. 

“Bemember  the  moves  we  planned  last  night,” 
had  been  Dick’s  last  whispered  words. 

On  Butler’s  face  rested  a broad  grin.  He 
pranced  about  lightly,  swinging  his  hard- 
muscled arms.  He  intended  to  start  with  a bit  of 
easy  nonsense,  putting  Holmes  off  his  guard. 


170  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

Then  the  yearling’s  plan  was  to  make  the  affair 
a lesson  in  scientific  mauling. 

While  Butler  was  dancing  about,  grinning, 
Greg,  vastly  more  watchful  than  he  appeared  to 
be,  suddenly  let  his  right  out  in  a feint,  then 
followed  with  a left  drive. 

Butler  all  but  struck  this  blow  up,  yet,  as 
he  darted  back  from  the  parry,  the  yearling 
tasted  blood  from  his  own  lower  lip.  That 
taught  him  that  even  a despised  little  plebe  like 
Mr.  Holmes  might  have  his  points  of  danger. 

“Now,  stand  up  and  let  us  see  how  good  your 
quick  counter  is,  ’ ’ laughed  the  yearling,  dancing 
about. 

Butler ’s  footwork  was  fine  and  fast,  but  Greg, 
watching  him,  only  pivoted  about,  putting  up  his 
hands  with  great  speed.  Thus  Greg  blocked  all 
but  three  or  four  lighter  blows  up  to  the  time 
when  the  time-keeper’s  interruption  came. 

“You  won’t  need  to  do  much  in  the  rubbing 
line,”  whispered  Greg,  as  his  seconds  started  in 
on  him  in  his  “corner.”  “My  man,  as  yet, 
hasn’t  any  more  than  warmed  me  up.” 

“Look  out  for  a smash  on  the  nose,  old  fel- 
low,” warned  Dick.  “You  got  first  blood  in 
a half-sort  of  way,  by  that  cut  on  the  other  man’s 
lip.  In  this  next  round  Mr.  Butler  will  try  to 
get  the  real  first  blood.” 

“I  hope  so,”  muttered  Greg  dreamily.  “For 


AT  WEST  POINT 


171 


that  one  I believe  I have  one  of  the  best  counters 
known.” 

Surely  enough,  in  the  beginning  of  the  second 
round,  Butler  feinted,  then  led  off  for  a hard  one 
on  the  plebe’s  nose.  But  the  delivery  was  the 
very  one  that  Cadet  Holmes  wanted.  He  ducked, 
feinted,  and  slammed  in  just  above  Mr.  But- 
ler’s belt  with  such  force  that  the  big  yearling 
staggered.  Yet  Butler  was  a wary  fighter;  he 
blocked  Greg’s  follow-up  scheme,  then  fought 
for  time.  Towards  the  end  of  the  round,  how- 
ever, Butler  again  tried  for  the  plebe’s  nose. 
This  time  he  failed  again,  but  Greg’s  counter- 
blow landed  on  the  point  of  a shoulder.  Butler 
would  have  been  away  in  another  instant,  but 
Greg’s  right  came  out  of  a hook  and  tapped  the 
yearling  emphatically  on  the  end  of  his  nose. 
As  the  yearling  fought  back  furiously  the  blood 
spurted  from  his  nose. 

Then,  just  before  time  was  called,  Greg  got  his 
left  eye  too  much  in  line  with  the  yearling ’s  right 
fist. 

Dazed,  Cadet  Holmes  was  saved  only  by  the 
word  from  the  time-keeper.  Had  the  round 
lasted  fifteen  seconds  more  Mr.  Butler  would 
have  had  the  plebe  out. 

Erect,  and  as  jauntily  as  he  could  step,  Greg 
went  back  to  his  corner. 

“I  reckon  you’ve  got  a bad  looking  window 


172  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


here,”  murmured  Anstey  sympathetically,  as  he 
swabbed  at  the  damaged  surface  around  the  eye. 
“Make  it  short,  Holmesy,  or  you’re  going  to 
meet  with  more  damage,  I reckon.” 

“This  is  the  last  serious  smash  that  Greg  is 
going  to  take,”  put  in  Dick  coolly.  “In  the 
third  he’s  going  to  remember  the  old  Gridley 
fighting  principle.  Greg,  you  simply  can’t  be 
whipped.  Now,  wade  in  and  seize  hold  of  Mr. 
Butler’s  scalp-lock.” 

Soon  the  fighters  were  at  it  again.  Two  or 
three  body  blows  Greg  took,  and  they  stung, 
coming  from  such  steam-driven  fists  as  the  year- 
ling’s. But  Mr.  Holmes’s  damaged  left  eye  was 
closing  rapidly.  He  was  forced  to  squint 
through  that  eye,  getting  most  of  his  sight 
through  the  right.  Of  course,  the  yearling,  who 
now  realized  he  had  something  more  than  a 
dummy  to  fight,  manoeuvred  at  Greg’s  left  side 
after  that. 

The  third  round  was  drawing  to  a close.  But- 
ler landed  one  on  the  side  of  young  Holmes’s 
head  that  sent  the  plebe  spinning.  Yet,  as  he 
swung,  Greg  dropped  a hard  blow  on  Mr.  But- 
ler’s already  damaged  nose.  There  was  a gasp 
of  pain  from  the  yearling. 

“Time!”  called  Mr.  Connors. 

Greg  went  back  to  his  seconds,  a good  deal 
jarred,  his  wind  troubled,  and  his  left  eye  rapidly 


AT  WEST  POINT 


173 


assuming  a most  ugly  look.  One  more  really 
“good”  one  from  the  larger  fighter  would  put 
the  plebe  out  of  the  affair. 

“Be  cool,  now,  old  chap,”  admonished  Dick 
in  an  undertone,  as  he  and  Anstey  worked  over 
their  comrade.  “The  next  round  probably  de- 
cides it.” 

“Cool?”  grimaced  Cadet  Holmes.  “Why,  I 
guess  I am  everywhere  except  in  my  punished 
eye.  That  feels  like  a red-hot  furnace ! ’ ’ 

As  the  men  faced  each  other  for  the  fourth 
round  Greg,  through  his  right  eye,  saw  a look 
of  intent  in  Butler’s  eye  that  meant  business. 
The  yearling  was  now  going  in,  in  earnest,  to 
wind  up  this  affair. 

“I’m  going  to  get  something  out  of  this!” 
grumbled  Cadet  Holmes  inwardly. 

As  Butler  came  at  him,  swift  and  terrible, 
Cadet  Holmes  formed  the  purpose  of  playing  off 
a block  to  be  followed  by  a direct  and  sure  as- 
sault on  one  of  his  man’s  eyes.  And  presently 
the  chance  came.  Greg  bounced  in  so  resolutely 
over  Butler’s  right  eye  that  the  yearling  stag- 
gered back,  fighting  for  sight  and  wind.  But 
Greg,  who  knew  it  was  thrash-or-be-thrashed, 
was  merciless.  He  leaped  about,  harassing  his 
opponent,  then  sent  in  a well-calculated  blow  that 
closed  the  yearling’s  other  eye. 

Butler  reeled.  It  looked  as  though  he  must 


174  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


go  down.  Greg,  unwilling  to  take  any  unfair  ad- 
vantage, paused  a second.  Then,  realizing  that 
Mr.  Butler  was  keeping  his  feet,  Cadet  Holmes 
leaped  in,  feinting  blow  after  blow  with  such 
speed  that  the  yearling  was  dazed.  Suddenly, 
with  a new  feint  for  the  yearling’s  solar  plexus, 
Holmes  suddenly  raised,  driving  in  hard  on  the 
left  side  of  Mr.  Butler’s  jaw.  That  sent  the 
dazed  man  down.  He  went  in  a heap,  then  un- 
folded and  lay  limp. 

Time-keeper  Connors  began  to  count,  though 
perfunctorily.  There  was  no  reason  to  believe 
that  Mr.  Butler  could  wake  up  in  time,  and  he 
didn’t.  Mr.  Plympton,  in  a cold  tone,  awarded 
the  fight  to  the  plehe.  Butler’s  seconds  went  to 
work  over  him,  hut  it  was  some  minutes  before 
they  brought  him  hack  to  consciousness.  By 
this  time  Greg  was  dressed. 

“Mr.  Butler,”  murmured  Greg,  bending  over 
his  at  last  conscious  opponent,  “I  would  like  to 
say  a word — now.  That  business  with  the  cord 
was  a trick  put  up  on  me,  not  on  you.  You  were 
only  the  incidental  victim.  I had  no  willing  or 
knowing  part  in  your  discomfiture.  I tell  you 
this  now,  sir,  after  having  proved  that  I wasn’t 
afraid  merely  of  being  called  out.  I am  tre- 
mendously sorry  that  this  fight  had  to  he.  ’ ’ 

“You  held  up  your  en,d  all  right,  mister,”  was 
the  yearling’s  concise  tribute. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


175 


Then,  after  sending  Anstey  back  to  camp  with 
the  officials,  Dick  accompanied  Greg  to  cadet 
hospital,  where  the  latter ’s  eye  was  dressed  and 
“painted  out”  as  much  as  could  he. 

Both  of  Mr.  Butler’s  seconds  were  required  to 
help  him  to  hospital.  Nor  did  the  yearling  get 
out  very  soon.  His  jaw  had  not  been  fractured, 
but  for  some  days  the  medical  officers  feared 
“green-stick”  fracture,  with  a consequent  dan- 
ger of  suppuration.  It  was  not  until  after  the 
end  of  the  encampment  that  the  yearling  was  dis- 
charged from  hospital. 

“Where’s  Mr.  Butler  to-night?”  inquired  a 
very  pretty  girl,  as  she  strolled  through  camp 
in  the  evening,  between  two  attentive  yearlings. 
She  was  the  same  whom  Butler  had  last  accom- 
panied to  a hop. 

“Mr.  Butler  is  in  hospital,”  replied  Mr.  Mc- 
Graw. 

“Yes,  and  pounded  to  such  a pulp  that  his 
mother  wouldn’t  know  him,”  laughed  a young 
* ‘ cit,  ’ ’ the  girl ’s  cousin.  ‘ ‘ Over  there  is  Holmes, 
the  plebe  who  did  it.  ’ ’ 

“What  a disgusting  brute  Mr.  Holmes  must 
be!”  muttered  the  girl  indignantly,  and  Greg, 
hearing  her,  colored  violently,  but  could  not  re- 
ply. Plebes  are  not  allowed  the  acquaintance  of 
the  young  ladies. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

TAPS  SOUNDS  ON  SUMMER 

CADET  DODGE  spent  the  last  days  of  the 
encampment  on  sick  report. 

He  got  word  that  Mr.  Ponltney  was 
one  of  the  yearlings  concerned  in  his  discom- 
fiture on  post  number  three,  and  boldly  con- 
fronted the  yearling  with  the  charge. 

In  the  fight  that  followed  Dodge  received  a 
fearful  walloping  from  Mr.  Poultney. 

The  laws  of  courtesy  are  enforced  by  these 
fights.  A new  man,  entering  the  United  States 
Military  Academy,  often  has  a most  exaggerated 
idea  of  his  own  importance  and  merits.  In  some 
instances  the  new  cadet  is  likely  to  disregard 
the  rights  of  upper  class  men.  A fight  puts  the 
offending  plebe  where  he  belongs.  Further,  the 
knowledge  that  he  will  have  to  fight  for  every 
serious  infraction  of  the  rules  of  courtesy  re- 
sults in  quickly  making  a disciplined  soldier  and 
considerate  gentleman  out  of  the  cadet  who  is 
inclined  to  be  bumptious. 

In  the  training  of  personal  character  it  may 
readily  be  believed  that  the  cadet’s  plebe  year, 
with  its  “chalk-line”  and  repression,  is  worth 
all  the  rest  of  the  time  spent  at  West  Point. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


177 


Milk-sops  and  peaee-at-any-price  advocates 
may  as  well  turn  their  attention  away  from  West 
Point.  These  ultra-peaceable  ones,  who  long  for 
the  promotion  of  peace  through  the  abolition  of 
all  armies,  have  at  hand  an  experiment  that  can 
be  carried  out  only  on  a smaller  scale. 

Let  these  peace-at-any-price  agitators,  in  a 
given  community,  set  about  to  stamp  out  crime 
by  abolishing  the  police  force!  An  army  is 
merely  a force  of  international  policemen. 

In  the  last  days  of  August  the  furloughed  new 
second  class  returned.  The  young  men,  after 
reporting  at  the  adjutant’s  office  at  the  required 
hour,  formed  and  marched  to  camp,  still  in 
“cit.”  clothes. 

First  and  third  class  men  rushed  out  to  re- 
ceive and  congratulate  the  returned  travelers, 
while  the  plebes  stood  shyly  by.  Their  welcome 
was  not  wanted.  Then  the  second  class  men 
disappeared  into  their  tents.  They  were  out 
again,  quickly  enough,  in  white  ducks  and  the 
cadet  gray  blouses.  They  had  taken  up  the 
cadet  life  for  two  years  more.  In  the  afternoon 
these  second  class  men  swelled  the  ranks  of  the 
battalion  and  went  through,  with  all  the  old-time 
fervor,  the  grand  old  ceremony  of  dress  parade. 

That  night  came  the  “Show.”  This  annual 
show  at  the  end  of  August  may  be  either  the 


178  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR1 


Camp  Illumination  or  the  Color  Line  Entertain- 
ment. This  year  the  class  presidents  had  asked 
for  the  latter. 

As  soon  as  dark  came  on,  the  Color  Line — the 
central  line  through  cadet  camp — blazed  out  with 
lights.  Soon  after  the  band  began  to  play  gayly. 
Hundreds  of  visitors,  most  of  them  women,  and 
the  majority  quite  young  women,  flocked  to 
camp.  Along  the  color  line  the  guns  of  the  bat- 
talion were  stacked.  Over  the  center  of  the  line 
the  colors  of  the  country  and  the  cadet  colors 
were  draped  with  beautiful  effect.  Cadets  of 
the  three  upper  classes  escorted  the  visitors 
through.  The  plebes  stood  by  their  own  tents, 
answering  when  spoken  to,  which  was  not  often. 

After  the  band  had  played  several  selections 
the  musicians  moved  up  before  a hastily  con- 
structed stage.  Plays  or  musical  farces,  writ- 
ten and  acted  by  cadets,  are  often  presented. 
In  Dick’s  plebe  summer,  however,  the  choice  had 
been  for  a minstrel  show. 

Half  an  hour  before  the  opening  of  the  per- 
formance thirty  of  the  cadets  vanished  to  a big 
dressing  tent  behind  the  stage. 

Before  the  stage  hundreds  of  seats  had  been 
arranged.  Every  cadet  who  escorted  ladies  was 
privileged  to  sit  with  them.  Cadets  who  “s tag- 
ged” it  were  expected  to  stand.  All  of  the 
plebes  were  in  this  number. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


179 


Presently  the  cadets,  their  faces  blacked,  came 
out  of  the  dressing  tent,  taking  their  places  on 
the  stage.  A regulation  first  part  was  now  pro- 
vided, with  the  aid  of  the  band  playing  as  an 
orchestra.  In  style  it  was  the  minstrel  first  part 
with  which  we  are  all  familiar.  There  was  this 
difference:  The  jokes  hit  off  exclusively  local 

affairs  and  conditions.  The  officers  who  served 
as  instructors  at  West  Point  did  not  by  any 
means  escape  in  the  running  fire  of  minstrelsy 
nonsense. 

Then  came  forth  a woeful  figure,  blackfaced 
and  attired  in  a dilapidated  uniform.  As  he 
turned  sideways  it  was  noted  that  this  cadet,  who 
was  really  a rollicking  second  class  man,  wore 
on  his  back  a card  labeled  in  large  letters: 
“Plebe.  Please  don’t  mistreat.” 

At  first  sight  of  the  pitiable  object  a roar  of 
laughter  went  up  from  the  spectators.  Nowhere 
was  the  laughter  louder  than  in  the  ranks  of  the 
standing  plebes  themselves,  at  the  rear  of  the 
audience.  This  woeful-looking  performer,  after 
the  orchestra  had  played  a few  preliminary 
strains,  launched  into  a parody  of  “Nobody 
Loves  Me.”  The  song  was  full  of  hits  on  the 
b.  j.  “beast.”  The  real  plebes  followed  with 
keen  enjoyment. 

“Mr.  Plescott!”  called  the  interlocutor,  after 
the  song  and  two  encore  verses  had  been  sung. 


180  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


“Yes,  sah,”  falteringly  replied  the  minstrel 
plebe,  turning  awkwardly  and  saluting  with  the 
wrong  hand. 

Though  the  name  called  was  “Plescott,”  half 
of  the  plebe  class  turned  to  grin  at  Cadet  Rich- 
ard Prescott. 

Dick  stood  it  well,  waiting  to  see  what  the 
performer  would  next  say. 

“Mr.  Plescott,”  continued  the  interlocutor, 
“I  heard  something  said  about  you  this  morning 
that  I didn’t  in  the  least  like.” 

“Ye-e-es.  sah  t ’ ’ inquired  the  minstrel  plebe 
falteringly. 

“I  consider  it,  Mr.  Plescott,  a most  insulting 
thing  that  I heard  said  about  you.” 

“ Ye-e-e-s , sah?”  faltered  the  performer,  his 
knees  shaking  and  his  eyes  rolling  in  appre- 
hension. 

“Mr.  Plescott,  your  /lefamer  said  yon  were 
not  fit  to  eat  with  Hottentot  savages!  I had  to 
call  the  fellow  down  severely.  Think  of  it,  Mr. 
Plescott — you  not  fit  to  eat  with  Hottentot  sav- 
ages.” 

“Dat  was  a mighty  mean  thing  to  say,  sah. 
Mought  ah  ask  what  yo’  said  to  de  gemmun?” 

“I  told  your  defamer,  Mr.  Plescott,  that  he 
was  entirely  in  error  in  asserting  that  you  are 
not  fit  to  eat  with  Hottentot  savages.  I as- 
sured him  that  you  were !** 


AT  WEST  POINT 


181 


There  was  a wild  whoop  of  glee  from  the  spec- 
tators, especially  from  the  other  plebes,  and 
Dick,  though  he  laughed  heartily,  reddened  when 
he  found  himself  focused  by  so  many  scores  of 
eyes. 

Then  the  singer  dropped  off  into  another  song, 
and  the  nonsense  went  on.  After  the  first  part 
came  an  olio  in  which  were  some  fine  singing, 
dancing,  juggling  and  other  work. 

The  performance  came  to  an  end  in  time  for 
the  cadets  and  their  visitors  to  take  another 
stroll  through  camp. 

Bang!  Bang!  Bang!  A glow  and  a hurst 
of  red  fire!  There  was  a bewildering  maze  of 
pyrotechnics.  After  five  minutes  of  this  the  fire- 
works ceased,  and,  though  the  camp  lights  still 
burned  the  contrast  seemed  almost  like  dark- 
ness. 

The  members  of  the  band  rose.  As  the  lead- 
er’s baton  fell  the  notes  of  “The  Star  Spangled 
Banner”  rose  triumphant  on  the  night  air.  It 
was  a glorious  sight  as  a hundred  Army  officers 
and  five  hundred  United  States  cadets  clicked 
their  heels,  stood  instantly  at  attention,  un- 
covered their  heads  and  stood  with  caps  held 
over  their  hearts. 

As  the  strains  died  out  there  was  an  impres- 
sive pause.  Then,  in  lighter  vein,  the  band  rol- 
licked out  with  the  old,  familiar,  “Good  Night, 


182  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

Ladies,”  and,  laughing  merrily,  the  visitors  de- 
parted, their  cadet  friends  going  with  them  only 
as  far  as  camp  limits.  . 

Out  on  the  plains  beyond  the  visitors  again 
halted  for  a brief  instant. 

In  front  of  the  guard  tent  a drummer  sounded 
“taps” — three  strokes  on  the  drum.  All  but 
the  authorized  lights  in  guard  tent  and  0.  C.’s 
tent  were  extinguished. 

The  summer  encampment  was  over. 

“Oh,  dear!”  sighed  many  a fair  visitor  as  she 
returned  to  a sheltering  roof.  “The  summer’s 
fun  is  over.  To-morrow  these  splendid  young 
men  will  be  back  in  barracks,  grilling  and  boning 
for  their  very  lives!” 


CHAPTER  XVII 


MR.  DODGE  GOES  CANVASSING 

YES,  the  good  old  summer  time  was  over. 

Bending  over  study  tables  in  cadet 
barracks  the  young  men  pored  over 
books  and  papers  of  their  own  making. 

The  first  few  days  seemed  fearfully  hard. 
To  the  young  men  who  had  been  for  weeks  away 
from  their  hooks  it  seemed  for  a while  all  hut 
impossible  to  pick  up  the  threads  of  study  in 
a way  that  would  anything  like  satisfy  the 
Army  officers  who  acted  as  their  relentless  in- 
structors. 

“Relentless!”  To  the  average  boy  in  gram- 
mar or  high  school  it  does  not  seem  like  a hard- 
ship to  be  required  to  make  a percentage  of 
at  least  sixty-six  and  two-thirds  per  cent,  in 
all  studies.  In  the  public  schools  it  seems  rather 
easy  to  reach  that  kind  of  an  average. 

At  West  Point  the  markings  are  on  a scale 
of  three,  with  decimal  shadings.  A man  who 
secures  in  any  study  a marking  of  two  is  deemed 
proficient.  If  his  average  marking  in  a term 
is  2.6,  he  is  rather  highly  proficient  in  that  study. 
A marking  of  two  on  a scale  of  three  is  equi- 
valent to  sixty-six  and  two-thirds  per  cent.,  and 


184  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


this  does  not  seem,  to  the  outsider,  a difficult  at- 
tainment. But  the  West  Point  speed  of  study! 
In  a high  school  the  young  man  is  given  the 
whole  of  the  first  year  in  which  to  qualify  in 
simple  algebra;  in  the  second  year  he  takes  up 
plane  geometry ; in  the  third  he  comes  upon  solid 
geometry ; in  the  fourth  year  of  high  school  work 
the  young  man  masters  plane  trigonometry  and 
solves  allied  problems. 

At  West  Point,  in  the  plebe  year,  the  young 
man,  in  the  first  half  of  the  year,  goes  through 
simple  algebra  and  plane  and  solid  geometry. 
In  the  second  half  of  the  year  he  must  force  his 
way  understandingly  through  advanced  algebrt 
and  plane  and  spherical  trigonometry!  This  k 
his  mathematics  work  merely  for  the  first  year, 
yet  it  is  more  and  more  thoroughly  covered 
than  the  high  school  boy’s  entire  course. 

During  their  first  three  months  of  plebedom, 
and  with  their  course  behind  them  in  the  really 
fine  high  school  at  Gridley,  Dick  and  Greg  had 
not  found  their  math,  much  of  a torment.  But 
now,  after  coming  back  from  encampment,  these 
young  men  began  to  wake  up  to  the  fact  that 
West  Point  mathematics  is  a giant  contrasted 
with  the  pigmy  of  public  school  mathematics. 
The  two  chums  began  to  put  in  every  minute 
they  could  spare  over  the  long,  bewildering  ar- 
ray of  problems  assigned  for  each  recitation. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


18b 


“What  a curious  delusion  we  had,  back  at 
Gridley!”  laughed  Greg,  in  their  room,  one 
night. 

“Which  particular  delusion  was  that'?”  Dick 
demanded,  without  looking  up  from  his  geome- 
try. 

“Why,  we  thought  our  easy  old  Gridley  work 
in  math,  was  going  to  fit  us  to  race  easily 
through  the  first  two  years  here ! ’ ’ 

“That  isn’t  the  only  pipe  that  has  burned  out 
in  our  pockets  since  we  became  plebes ! ’ ’ grunted 
Dick. 

“Are  you  going  to  max  it  (get  a high  mark- 
ing) in  math.,  to-morrow,  old  fellow.” 

“I’m  going  to  ’fess  out  (fail)  more  likely,” 
sighed  Dick.  “How  are  you  coming  on,  gen- 
eral?” 

“I’d  give  a good  deal  to  be  able  to  ask  a 
first  class  man  how  to  solve  the  fourth  problem 
on  to-morrow’s  list,”  groaned  Greg. 

“I’d  show  you,”  sighed  Dick,  “only  I’m 
afraid  I might  lead  you  into  an  ambush  where 
you’d  get  scalped  by  the  instructor.” 

In  each  class,  and  in  every  subject  of  study, 
the  young  men  are  divided,  for  recitation  pur- 
poses, into  sections  of  eight  or  ten  men.  In  each 
study  the  section  to  which  the  young  man  be- 
longs is  determined  by  his  relative  standing  in 
that  study.  The  “banner”  section  is  made  up 


186  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

of  the  cadets  who  stand  highest  in  the  class  in 
that  particular  study.  At  the  end  of  every  week 
the  markings  of  each  cadet  in  every  one  of  his 
studies  is  posted,  and  the  sections  are)  rear- 
ranged, if  need  he.  The  men  in  the  lowest  sec- 
tion of  all  in  a given  study  are  styled  the 
“goats.”  The  members  of  the  “goat”  section, 
in  math,  for  instance,  are  men  who  feel  rather 
certain  that  they  will  presently  he  ‘ ‘ found  ’ ’ and 
dropped  from  the  cadet  corps.  However,  at  the 
beginning  of  a year  a man  may  fall  into  the 
“goats,”  and  then  later,  may  pull  up  so  that  he 
reaches  a higher  section  and  goes  on  with  better 
standing.  But  in  general  the  “goats”  are 
looked  upon  as  men  who  are  going  to  be  dropped, 
and  this  usually  applies,  also,  to  a majority  of 
the  men  in  the  two  or  three  sections  just  above 
the  “goats.” 

About  forty  per  cent,  of  the  young  men  who 
enter  West  Point  as  cadets  are  dropped  before 
their  course  is  over.  Most  of  these  losses  oc- 
cur in  the  plebe  and  yearling  classes.  When  a 
man  has  completed  two  years  at  West  Point  he 
has  a very  good  chance  to  get  through  and  win 
his  commission  as  an  officer  in  the  Army. 

In  geometry  Greg  was  in  the  third  section 
above  the  ‘ ‘ goats,  ’ ’ Dick  in  the  sixth. 

“I  wish  I had  your  head,  old  ramrod!” 
groaned  Greg,  half  an  hour  later. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


187 


“If  I should  lose  even  a hair’s  weight  from 
my  head  I’d  be  in  the  ‘goats’  next  week,”  re- 
plied Prescott  grimly.  “If  I ever  get  to  be  an 
officer  in  the  Army,  I wonder  what  earthly  good 
all  these  math,  headaches  will  do  me  in  handling 
a hunch  of  raw  rookies?” 

“If  we  have  to  go  back  to  Gridley,  ‘skinned,’” 
grimaced  Greg,  “we’ll  at  least  have  company. 
Dodge  is  only  a tenth  above  ‘goat’  grade  in 
geom.,  and  next  week  will  probably  see  him 
there.  ’ ’ 

“And  he  was  considered  a good  student  in 
Gridley!”  quoth  Dick  sadly. 

That  Dodge,  however,  still  had  hopes  of  being 
able  to  hold  on  was  proved  by  the  fact  that  he 
was  now  conducting  a vigorous  campaign  for 
election  to  the  class  presidency. 

“I  think  I am  as  good  as  elected  class  presi- 
dent, ’ ’ he  wrote  home  to  the  elder  Dodge.  And, 
the  next  time  Theodore  Dodge  went  over  to  his 
bank  in  Gridley,  Theodore  Dodge  circulated  the 
news  among  his  intimates.  The  evening 
“Mail,”  in  Gridley,  came  out  with  the  state- 
ment that  Dodge  was  sure  to  become  class  presi- 
dent. 

“And  thus  Gridley  will  have  cause  to  feel 
that  it  occupies  no  small  place  of  honor,  after 
all,  in  national  affairs,”  penned  the  editor  of 
the  “Mail.” 


188  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


Dodge  had  a rather  fair  following  of  friends 
in  the  class,  since  he  had  become  modest  enough 
to  drop  his  pretensions  to  caste  and  extra  social 
position  and  they  were  working  hard  for  him. 

That  young  man  came  early  to  Dick  and 
Greg,  asking  them  to  work  for  him. 

“I  don’t  quite  care  to  pledge  myself,”  Dick 
replied  kindly.  “When  the  class  meeting  is 
called  I’d  rather  go  in  with  a free  mind  on  the 
subject.  Then,  Dodge,  if  I consider  you  the  best 
man  put  in  nomination,  I ’ll  vote  for  you.  ’ ’ 
Though  this  was  not  a positive  assurance 
Dodge  and  his  campaign  managers  made  use  of 
it  to  put  Dick’s  name  in  the  list  of  supporters. 

One  evening,  at  dress  parade,  when  the  cadet 
adjutant  read  the  day’s  orders,  he  came  to  this 
announcement : 

“Members  of  the  fourth  class  are  requested 
to  meet,  under  permission  of  the  Superintendent, 
at  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  at  eight  o’clock  to-night,  for 
the  election  of  a class  president,  and  for  tran- 
saction of  such  other  business  as  may  properly 
come  before  the  meeting.  Members  of  the  up- 
per classes  will  accordingly  remain  away  from 
the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  to-night.” 

“Remember,  you  fellows,”  called  Bert  Dodge, 
thrusting  his  head  into  Dick  and  Greg’s  room 
after  return  to  barracks,  “I  count  upon  your 
strong  support  to-night.” 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


THE  PLEBE  CLASS  CHOOSES  ITS  PRESIDENT 

NOT  a man  save  two  on  sick  report  at  cadet 
hospital  was  absent  when  Cadet  Hop- 
per, acting  as  temporary  chairman, 
called  the  plebe  class  to  order. 

“Gentlemen,”  he  announced,  “you  all  know 
the  principal  reason  for  our  being  here.  We 
are,  in  especial,  to  elect  a class  president.  There- 
fore I will  take  time  only  to  urge  upon  you  the 
great  importance  of  to-night ’s  planned  action. 

“The  class  president  is  to  be,  in  a -word,  the 
class  leader.  The  president  of  this  class  is  to 
stand  before  the  entire  cadet  body,  and  before 
the.  authorities  of  the  United  States  Military 
Academy,  as  the  representative  of  this  class. 

“It  goes  without  saying,  I think,  that  our 
president  should  be,  in  every  respect,  the  best 
possible  representative  of  the  class  as  a whole. 
He  should  be  as  nearly  as  possible  the  ideal  man 
of  the  class — the  man  who  stands  for  the  best, 
the  manliest  and  the  most  loyal  thoughts  and 
aspirations  of  this  class. 

“As  brevity  is  always  highly  to  be  prized,  1 
will  say  no  more  at  this  moment.  If  any  gentle- 
man present  desires  to  address  the  class,  I will 


190  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


recognize  Mm  for  that  purpose.  If,  after  a 
pause,  we  ascertain  that  no  member  desires  to 
make  a general  ad.dress,  I will  then  rule  that 
the  election  is  next  in  order.” 

“Mr.  Chairman!” 

“Mr.  Lawrence.” 

“I  believe,  Mr.  Chairman,”  cried  Mr.  Law- 
rence, “that  I have  never  heard  the  objects  or 
the  duty  of  a meeting  better  expressed,  or  in 
fewer  words.  I am  certain  that  I voice  the 
sense  of  this  class  meeting  when  I say  that  the 
thanks  of  the  plebe  class  are  due  to  the  chairman. 
I have  only  to  add  by  own  personal,  urgent  ap- 
peal that  the  man  chosen  for  the  greatest  honor 
we  can  bestow  be  truly  a man  who  represents 
the  best  that  there  is  in  this  class.  And  now, 
Mr.  Chairman,  I move  that  we  proceed  at  once 
to  nominations.” 

“Nominations  with  speeches?”  asked  the 
chairman. 

“Yes,  Mr.  Chairman.” 

“I  second  the  motion,  as  amended,”  declared 
Cadet,  Thompson. 

The  motion  was  put  and  carried. 

Cadets  Hopper  and  Lawrence  were  both  nomi- 
nated, and  the  nominations  seconded. 

“Mr.  Chairman!” 

“Mr.  Delavan.” 

Cadet  Delavan  was  upon  his  feet,  the  recog- 


AT  WEST  POINT 


191 


nized  and  avowed  arch-supporter  of  Mr.  Dodge. 
Delavan  made  an  introductory  appeal  in  which 
he  brought  forth  and  endorsed  the  remarks  of 
the  chair.  He  then  brought  forth,  as  leading 
characteristics  in  a wise  and  capable  class  presi- 
dent a high  sense  of  honor,  wide  judgment,  in- 
timacy with  the  world  and  its  social  usages,  and 
unswerving  loyalty  to  country,  the  Military 
Academy  and  the  class. 

“In  these  and  in  all  other  essential  and  even 
ideal  respects,  Mr.  Chairman,  we  have  every- 
thing that  can  be  asked  for  in  Mr.  Dodge.  Mr. 
Chairman,  I most  earnestly  and  urgently  place 
Mr.  Dodge  in  nomination  for  the  office  of  presi- 
dent of  this  class.” 

Then  Hadley  was  on  his  feet  at  once.  In  a 
longer  and  more  eloquent  speech  he  seconded 
the  nomination.  Hadley  possessed  the  gift  of 
eloquence.  As  he  proceeded  in  his  remarks  he 
convinced  many,  until  now  wavering,  that  Bert 
Dodge  was  the  most  available  man  for  the  great 
office.  When  Hadley  sat  down  it  was  the  general 
opinion  that  Dodge  was  about  as  good  as  elected. 

There  was  a long  pause.  Then: 

“Mr.  Chairman!” 

“Mr.  Anstey.” 

The  Virginian  nodded  to  the  chair,  then  looked 
slowly  around  at  all  the  faces.  It  was  some 
moments  ere  his  voice  was  again  heard.  When 


192  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

he  did  speak  it  was  in  a low,  clear  voice  that 
gradually  increased  in  volume. 

“Mr.  Chairman,  and  fellow  members  of  the 
fourth  class,”  Anstey  continued  in  soft  accents, 
“it  may,  at  first  thought,  seem  almost  treacher- 
ous that  I should  favor  any  comrade  over  my 
own  roommate.” 

Bert  Dodge  flushed  angrily,  then  paled. 

“Believe  me,  sir  and  gentlemen,  only  a burn- 
ing desire  to  see  the  best  interests  of  the  class 
served  could  nerve  me  to  such  a seeming  lack  of 
grace.” 

In  the  intense  stillness  that  followed  the  noise 
that  Bert  Dodge  made  in  shifting  his  feet  on  the 
floor  sounded  loud,  indeed.  Anstey  was  a trifle 
paler  than  usual,  but  he  was  working  under  an 
intense  conviction,  and  the  grit  and  dash  of  his 
Revolutionary  forbears  was  quite  sufficient  to 
carry  him  on  unswervingly  to  his  goal  of  duty 
to  the  class. 

“Against  Mr.  Dodge,  sir  and  classmates,  I 
have  no  word  to  offer.  I will  admit  that  he 
would  make  a good  president  of  the  class.  In 
one  study  Mr.  Dodge  for  a while  stood  so  per- 
sistently among  the  goats  as  to  hint  at  the  possi- 
bility that  he  might  not  be  with  us  long.” 

Bert  flushed  angrily. 

“But,  most  fortunately,”  pursued  Anstey,  in 
the  same  soft,  Southern  voice,  “Mr.  Dodge  has 


AT  WEST  POINT 


193 


lately  pulled  himself  up  from  among  the  goats, 
and  is  most  likely  to  remain  here  at  the  Academy 
for  the  allotted  period  of  four  years. 

“Yet,  sir  and  classmates,  the  words  of  our 
temporary  presiding  officer  have  sunk  deeply 
into  my  brain.  We  must  choose  the  man  who  is 
most  truly  representative  of  the  whole  spirit, 
purpose  and  daring  of  the  class.  With  all  due 
and  high  respect,  gentlemen,  for  my  own  room- 
mate, I desire  to  bring  forward  for  your  con- 
sideration the  one  who,  I feel  certain,  stands 
more  closely  than  any  of  us  to  all  the  grand  old 
traditions  of  intelligence,  daring,  loyalty,  leader- 
ship, good  fellowship  and  unfailing  good  judg- 
ment. The  man  I would  nominate,  sir,  will,  to 
my  mind,  lead  this  class  as  no  class  has  been  led 
at  the  Military  Academy  within  the  last  gen- 
eration or  two.  ’ ’ 

Mr.  Anstey  paused,  glancing  at  the  faces  in 
front. 

“Name  him!” 

“Yes!  Name  him!” 

“Mr.  Chairman,  and  classmates,”  continued 
the  Virginian,  “I  have  the  honor — and  I as- 
sure you  I feel  it  an  honor  to  have  made  the 
discovery — I have  the  honor  to  place  in  nomi- 
nation for  the  class  presidency  the  name  of  that 
splendid  fellow  and  soldier-at-heart — Mr.  Pres- 
cott!” 


194  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


Greg  it  was  gave  a whoop  that  started  the 
cheering. 

“You  sneak!”  muttered  Dodge  under  his 
breath,  trying  to  hide  the  fire  that  burned  in  his 
eyes  as  he  looked  again  at  Cadet  Anstey.  But 
five  men  caught  the  low-uttered  word  and  it 
cost  Dodge  five  votes. 

“Further  nominations  are  in  order,”  sug- 
gested Chairman  Hopper. 

There  was  a long  pause,  after  which  it  was 
moved,  seconded  and  carried  that  the  nomi- 
nations be  closed. 

‘ ‘ The  chair  then  directs,  ’ ’ continued  Mr.  Hop^ 
per,  ‘ ‘ that  Messrs.  Gentry,  Hawkes,  Fletcher  anfi 
Simmons  serve  as  tellers.  Voting  will  be  by 
written  ballot,  on  slips  that  will  be  supplied  by 
the  tellers.” 

Soon  the  tellers  circulated  again  through  the 
meeting,  receiving  the  writteij  ballots  in  their 
caps.  These  were  brought  forward  to  the  table 
behind  the  platform  desk  and  counted.  Then, 
after  securing  the  floor,  teller  Hawkes  announced 
the  result  as  follows : 

“Whole  number  of  votes  cast,  122;  necessary 
to  choice,  61.  Of  these  Mr.  Dodge  has  received 
48;  Mr.  Prescott,  39;  Mr.  Hopper,  19,  and  Mr. 
Lawrence,  16.” 

“No  choice  having  been  made  by  the  majority 
voting,”  decided  the  chair,  “the  tellers  will  again 


AT  WEST  POINT 


195 


distribute  blank  slips  and  another  ballot  will  be 
cast.  ’ ’ 

The  second  balloting  resulted  in  this  layout: 
Dodge,  52 ; Prescott,  40 ; Hopper,  16 ; Lawrence, 

14. 

“No  choice  having  yet  been  made,  a third  bal- 
loting will  be  necessary,  ’ ’ ruled  the  chair. 

‘ ‘ Mr.  Chairman — one  moment,  please ! ’ ’ 

“Mr.  Lawrence.’’ 

“Mr.  Chairman  and  classmates,”  went  on 
Lawrence  hastily,  “I  regret  that  I have  not  the 
silver  tongue  possessed  by  some  who  have  spoken 
to-night.  Did  I possess  such  a precious  thing  I 
would  know  how  to  thank  appropriately,  per- 
haps, those  who  have  favored  me  enough  to 
vote  for  me.  I do  thank  these  friends,  though 
not  as  I would  wish  I might.  But  I now  respect- 
fully ask  all  of  my  friends  who  have  voted  for 
me  to  vote  with  me,  and  cast  their  votes  for  Mr. 
Prescott.  ’ ’ 

“The  chair  wishes  to  withdraw  its  name  from 
this  contest,  with  a similar  tribute  of  thanks,” 
declared  Mr.  Hopper.  “Yet,  perhaps  as  tem- 
porary presiding  officer,  it  will  not  be  wholly 
proper  for  me  to  declare  in  favor  of  either  of 
the  remaining  candidates.” 

Then  the  tellers  distributed  ballots  again. 
There  was  a great  deal  of  excitement  in  the  air. 
Bert  Dodge  and  Dick  Prescott  were  the  observed 


196  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


of  many  eyes.  Again  the  ballots  were  taken  np 
and  counted. 

“Gentlemen,”  announced  Chairman  Hopper, 
as  one  of  the  tellers  handed  him  a slip,  “Mr. 
Dodge  has  fifty  votes  and  Mr.  Prescott  has 
seventy-two.  Mr.  Prescott  is,  therefore,  elected 
president  of  this  class.” 

“Mr.  Chairman,”  cried  Greg,  leaping  to  his 
feet,  “I  move  to  make  the  election  unanimous.” 

“Second  the  motion!”  called  half  a dozen  at 
once. 

It  was  put  to  an  aye-and-no  vote  and  carried 
rousingly. 

“The  chair  gladly  relinquishes  its  temporary 
post  to  the  one  elected  to  fill  it,”  announced  Mr. 
Hopper. 

Anstey,  Greg  and  a dozen  others  gleefully  es- 
corted the  class  president  to  the  platform. 

Dick  addressed  the  meeting  in  a quiet,  low 
voice,  but  he  heartily  thanked  the  class  for  the 
honor  it  had  accorded  him. 

“I’m  not  going  to  make  a speech,  gentlemen, ’ ’ 
he  continued.  “Perhaps  a speech  from  me  will 
be  worth  more  when  I am  through  with  the 
office.  But  I have  listened  attentively  to  what 
has  has  been  outlined  to-night  by  other  speak- 
ers as  constituting  a worthy  president,  and  I can 
only  add  that  I shall  do  all  that  may  possibly  be 
in  my  power  to  live  up  to  such  ideals.  The  chair 


AT  WEST  POINT 


197 


now  stands  ready  to  be  advised  of  any  further 
business  that  may  properly  come  before  the 
meeting.  ’ ’ 

There  being  no  ‘ ‘ business,  ’ ’ the  time  was  taken 
up  with  speeches  from  several  plebes  who  wanted 
to  be  heard.  The  subject  of  their  treatment  by 
the  yearlings  came  in  for  much  attention.  Many 
of  the  speakers  expressed  burning  indignation  at 
the  “small  show”  accorded  to  the  plebe  class. 

“Hasn’t  our  president  something  to  say  on 
this  subject?”  called  some  one. 

“I  shall  be  glad  to  speak  on  this  very  matter,” 
smiled  Cadet  Prescott,  rising.  “Gentlemen  of 
the  class,  I know  that  we  are  traveling  over  a 
road  that,  even  under  the  most  genial  conditions, 
Would  be  a rough  one.  Many  of  us  feel  that  the 
yearling  class  is  devoting  all  its  energies  to  mak- 
ing that  road  a still  rougher  one.” 

‘ ‘ Hear ! Hear ! ’ ’ cried  a dozen  at  once. 

“But,  gentlemen,”  continued  the  new  class 
president,  “next  June  we  shall  be  yearlings. 
There  will  be  a new  lot  of  plebes  here,  and  I 
feel  rather  certain  that  we  shall  treat  them  just 
about  as  we  are  now  being  treated.” 

There  were  murmurs  of  dissent  at  this. 

‘ ‘ For  generations,  ’ ’ continued  Cadet  Prescott, 
“the  plebe  at  West  Point  has  had  to  rough  it. 
You  are  all  familiar  with  the  truism  that  a sol- 
dier must  learn  to  obey  before  he  is  fit  for  com- 


198  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


mand.  In  much  the  same  way,  I fancy,  the  plebe 
must  travel  a rough  road  before  he  is  thor- 
oughly broken  in  and  fitted  to  enjoy  the  delights 
of  full  equality  and  recognition  with  upper  class 
men. 

“We  are  no  more  put  upon  than  was  every 
present  upper  class  man  during  his  first  year 
here.  When  we  reach  the  sublime  heights  on 
which  the  yearlings  dwell  I believe  that  we  shall 
look  back  and  appreciate  the  fact  that  we  truly 
needed  some  round  thrashing  into  shape.  We 
shall  feel  grateful  to  our  present  enemies,  the 
yearlings — and  we  will  turn  around  and  help 
the  new  lot  of  plebes  through  the  same  kind  of 
first-year  life.  In  the  meantime,  classmates,  I 
earnestly  advise  that  we  establish  at  least  one 
record  here.  Let  us,  from  now  on,  prove  our- 
selves to  be  the  gamest  of  plebes  who  have  suf- 
fered here  in  many  a year.  The  more  patiently 
we  bear  it  now,  in  all  patience,  the  better  year- 
lings, the  better  second  class  men  and  first  class 
men  we  shall  be  when  our  time  comes.  The  motto 
of  a famous  sovereign  is,  ‘I  serve.’  Let  our 
plebe  class  motto  be,  ‘I  grin  and  bear.’  ” 

This  wasn’t  exactly  what  the  plebes  had  been 
expecting  from  their  new  leader.  For  a few 
moments  after  Dick  sat  down  there  was  silence. 
Then  a half  dozen  began  to  applaud.  The  noise 
grew,  until  half  the  plebes  were  cheering. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


199 


“Thank  you,  gentlemen,”  smiled  the  class 
president.  “I  think  we  are  now  well  started  on 
the  way  to  becoming  useful  members  of  the 
Army.  ’ ’ 

“What  do  you  think  of  our  new  leader!”  one 
of  Bert  Dodge’s  late  supporters  asked  that 
young  man  after  the  meeting  had  broken  up. 

“We’re  going  to  have  a boot-lick  president,” 
growled  Bert. 

“Then  there’s  a strong  boot-lick  sentiment  in 
the  class,”  returned  the  other  cadet.  “But  I 
think  Mr.  Prescott  is  going  to  head  a manlier 
lot  than  we  were  yesterday.  ’ ’ 

When  Anstey  entered  their  room  at  barracks 
Dodge  refused  to  notice  him,  or  to  answer  a 
pleasant  greeting. 

“I  have  been  trying  to  forgive  Dick  Prescott 
for  all  of  the  past,”  Cadet  Dodge  told  himself 
darkly.  “I  wanted  to  start  a new  life,  for  both 
of  us,  here  at  West  Point.  But  the  fellow  won’t 
let  me.  He  is  always  getting  in  my  way.  Oh, 
what  a laugh  there’ll  be  in  Gridley,  among  the 
mucker  part  of  the  population,  when  they  find 
that  I’m  not  class  president,  but  that  Dick  Pres- 
cott is!” 

Even  after  he  lay  in  bed,  following  taps,  Bert 
Dodge  could  not  sleep.  He  lay  tossing  restlessly, 
dark  thoughts  surging  through  his  mind. 

“No  place  on  earth  seems  large  enough  for 


200  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


Dick  Prescott  and  me  together!”  muttered 
Dodge  in  the  dark.  ‘ ‘ Dick  Prescott,  if  I haven ’t 
lost  my  cunning  you  shan’t  he  here  much 
longer.” 

But  the  forcing  of  Dick  Prescott  out  of  the 
West  Point  cadet  corps  was  not  easy  to  accom- 
plish nor  were  ways  of  doing  it  to  be  come  upon 
quickly. 

First,  Mr.  Dodge  realized  that  he  was  falling 
behind  in  mathematics,  and  for  weeks  he  had  to 
give  all  his  energy  to  keeping  a place  in  the 
class.  . 

Finally  January  came  and  with  it  examina- 
tions. The  plebe  escapes  written  examinations 
if  he  has  shown  proficiency  in  the  general  re- 
view of  the  first  half  of  the  academic  year. 
Dick  and  Greg  got  through  without  these 
“writs.”  Bert  Dodge  was  compelled  to  face 
the  written  test  in  mathematics,  but  he  made 
the  grade  and  stayed  on.  He  was  gratified,  for 
thirty-one  of  the  plebes  were  dropped  after  this 
examination. 

“I’ve  got  to  stay  on,”  Bert  Dodge  had  ground 
out  between  his  teeth.  “If  I’m  to  be  dropped 
from  West  Point,  it  must  be  after  I’ve  found  a 
way  to  send  Dick  Prescott  back  to  Gridley  ahead 
of  me!” 

Spring  came,  and  still  Bert’s  opportunity 
was  lacking.  He  and  Anstev  greeted  each  other, 


AT  WEST  POINT 


201 


but  that  was  about  all  the  communication  the 
two  held.  Yet,  one  night,  having  noted  the  fact 
that  for  some  time  Dodge  had  seemed  de- 
pressed, the  Virginian  asked: 

“What’s  wrong,  Mr.  Dodge?  Anything  in 
wThich  another  fellow  can  lend  a hand?” 

“Nothing’s  wrong,”  replied  Dodge  shortly, 
and  turned  at  once  to  his  books.  Still  his  gloom 
continued,  and  one  evening  not  long  after 
Anstey  said  to  Dick  and  Greg: 

‘ ‘ That  townsman  of  yours  is  so  deep  in  gloom 
that  it’s  like  living  in  an  unlighted  cave  to  be 
in  the  same  room  with  him.  What’s  wrong, 
do  you  suppose?” 

“No  telling,”  replied  Dick.  “Just  disposition, 
I presume.  He ’s  no  longer  a townsman  of  ours, 
by  the  way.” 

“Do  you  note  really  savage  looks  on  his 
face?”  put  in  Cadet  Holmes. 

“Don’t  I,  though!” 

“Then  Bert  Dodge  has  a mean  streak  on  and 
is  plotting  mischief  to  some  one!” 

“Is  he  underhanded  and  treacherous?”  de- 
manded Anstey  quickly. 

Prescott  hesitated  a moment,  then  said: 
“Perhaps  you’d  better  keep  your  eyes  open. 
You’re  pretty  close  to  him,  and  you  don’t  want 
him  to  do  anything  to  bring  your  record  in 
question.  Still,  so  far  as  any  of  us  knows,  he’s 


202  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

been  honorable  and  square  here;  so  let’s  give 
tbe  fellow  his  chance  and  say  nothing  to  preju- 
dice any  one  else.” 

“You’re  right,  Dick.  Still,  I wish  something 
would  pull  the  fellow  out  of  his  gloom.  It 
spreads  thick  through  the  whole  room.” 

The  truth  was  that  because  he  could  think 
of  no  feasible  plan  to  drive  Prescott  from  the 
Military  Academy,  Bert  Dodge  had  become 
morose  and  irritable.  But  at  last  he  thought 
he  saw  his  chance. 

It  was  May  when  Greg  Holmes  received  a 
telegram  that  an  aunt  of  his  of  whom  he  had 
always  been  fond  had  died.  Another  telegram 
from  Greg’s  father  to  Superintendent  Martin 
asked  that  the  boy  be  allowed  to  go  home  for 
the  funeral.  After  an  inquiry  as  to  Greg’s 
standing  in  class,  Colonel  Martin  granted  the 
permission,  handing  Holmes  the  money  his 
father  had  telegraphed  for  the  purpose.  "When 
Bert  Dodge  saw  Greg  leave  the  Academy  his 
eyes  lighted  up. 

“Prescott  will  be  alone  in  his  room,”  he 
muttered  in  evil  glee.  '“There’ll  be  times  when 
he’ll  be  out;  but  I’ll  have  to  work  quickly!” 
Then  a gleam  came  into  his  eyes.  “Prescott 
will  be  in  Lieutenant  Pierson’s  quarters  talking 
over  football  plans  to-morrow  night.  That’s 
my  chance!” 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  PROWLER  IN  QUARTERS 

AT  SEVEN  o’clock  the  next  morning  Bert 
Dodge  stepped  up  to  another  cadet 
known  as  the  “sick-marcher.”  To- 
gether they  went  to  the  hospital  where  Dodge 
reported  to  the  medical  officer  in  charge. 

“What’s  the  trouble,  Mr.  Dodge!”  asked  the 
surgeon,  reaching  for  the  plebe’s  pulse. 
“Chills,  sir,”  mumbled  the  cadet. 

“Chills!  Your  pulse  is  a bit  rapid,  but  not 
suspiciously  so.  Let  me  place  this  thermometer 
in  your  mouth.” 

After  two  minutes  Captain  Goodwin  removed 
the  thermometer  and  held  it  up. 

“Normal,”  he  observed,  a bit  puzzled. 
“Dead-beating,”  as  it  is  called,  or  trying  to 
get  into  the  hospital  when  there  is  no  need,  is 
not  unknown  to  the  surgeons  at  the  Military 
Academy.  But  when  done,  it  is  usually  tried 
before  a boy  has  been  there  a year.  “How 
long  have  you  felt  this  way!” 

“For  about  twenty-four  hours,  sir.” 
“Perhaps  I’d  better  mark  you  ‘quarters’  for 
twenty-four  hours  to  come,”  said  the  surgeon, 
eyeing  Dodge  closely. 


204  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


Dodge  squirmed.  This  was  what  he  did  not 
want.  Being  ordered  to  quarters  would  keep 
him  in  his  room. 

“I’ve  been  fighting  this  off  in  my  room,  sir,” 
replied  Dodge  haltingly.  “I  don’t  feel  well, 
and  I thought  that  a day  or  two  here,  resting 
in  bed  under  a doctor’s  eye,  might  set  me  up.” 
“Very  well,  Mr.  Dodge.  I don’t  think  any- 
thing serious  has  assailed  you,  but  we’ll  keep 
you  under  observation  for  a day  or  two.” 
Captain  Goodwin  completed  the  record  of  the 
case,  then  pressed  a button.  A sergeant  of  the 
hospital  corps  entered. 

“Steward,  Mr.  Dodge  is  to  be  put  to  bed. 
Full  hospital  diet  and  rest.  Further  instruc- 
tions will  be  given  to  you  later.” 

“Very  good,  sir.” 

Dodge  followed  the  sergeant  to  a bathroom, 
there  to  undress  and  bathe.  When  he  had  fin- 
ished he  was  handed  some  pajamas. 

“Where  is  my  regular  clothing?”  asked 
Dodge  of  the  private  who  gave  him  the  pajamas. 

‘ 1 Sergeant  Eberlee  locked  them  up  in  a locker, 
sir,  until  you’re  discharged.” 

Bert  Dodge,  in  a furious  temper,  followed  the 
private  to  the  bed  assigned  to  him.  His  cloth- 
ing locked  up!  That  clothing  had  figured 
largely  in  his  plan  in  coming  to  the  hospital. 
“Now  I have  played  the  fool!”  thought  the 


AT  WEST  POINT 


205 


cadet.  “I’d  planned  to  get  out  on  the  sly  to- 
night, while  in  here  officially.  Now  I can’t  get 
out  except  in  pajamas  in  which  I’d  be  spotted 
before  I’d  gone  ten  feet!  Hang  the  fool  regu- 
lations of  this  hospital!” 

All  day  Hodge  lay  fuming.  Lieutenant  Doc- 
tor Herman  visited  him  twice,  still  unwilling 
to  say  nothing  was  wrong.  For  one  thing,  Bert 
was  so  angry  that  he  could  not  eat,  and  that  in 
itself  is  unusual  in  a healthy  cadet  who  lives 
a very  strenuous  life.  Anger  also  gave  him  a 
flushed  face  and  an  exceptional  look  about  the 
eyes.  Yet,  there  was  nothing  apparent  to  make 
a physician  believe  there  was  anything  serious 
the  matter. 

Bert  had  the  ward  to  himself,  being  the  only 
patient  in  the  building.  It  was  eight  o’clock 
when  a man  in  the  uniform  of  the  hospital  corps 
came  in  to  turn  the  lights  low. 

‘ ‘ Benton ! ’ ’ exclaimed  Dodge.  ‘ ‘ What  brings 
you  here?” 

“Is  that  you,  Mr.  Dodge?”  asked  Private 
Benton,  approaching  Bert’s  bed.  “I’m  sorry 
to  see  you  sick,  sir.” 

“I’m  not  sick,  Benton.  But,  again,  what  are 
you  doing  here?”  Benton  was  an  enlisted  man 
who,  for  pay,  had  been  accustomed  to  serving 
Dodge  more  or  less  surreptitiously. 

“My  enlistment  ran  out  last  week,  sir.  So  I 


206  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

quit  the  cavalry  to  try  a three-year  term  in  the 
hospital  corps.” 

Here  was  Cadet  Dodge’s  opportunity!  He 
bribed  Benton  to  bring  him  his  clothes  and  to 
promise  silence. 

“It  would  be  time  in  a military  prison  for 
me  if  I told,  sir;  so  you  can  be  sure  I’ll  keep 
still,”  was  Benton’s  remark  as  he  let  the  cadet 
out  of  a back  door. 

As  he  went  softly  in  through  the  east  sally 
port,  Dodge  noted  with  joy  that  almost  nobody 
was  around. 

“I  can  get  by  without  detection,”  he  chuckled. 

He  did  get  just  inside  the  doorway  of  the 
subdivision  in  which  Cadets  Prescott  and 
Holmes  dwelt  before  he  attracted  attention. 
There  he  passed  two  yearlings. 

“Is  that  you,  Mr.  Dodge?”  rather  sharply 
demanded  one  of  these  yearlings. 

“No,  sir,”  Dodge  replied  in  a strained  voice 
and  sped  on  upstairs. 

“Queer,”  muttered  one  of  the  yearlings.  “I 
was  almost  positive  that  was  Mr.  Dodge.” 

Dodge  was  by  this  time  in  Dick  Prescott’s 
darkened  room.  He  stole  over  to  the  fireplace 
where  he  worked  quickly. 

“I’ve  fixed  your  career  here,  Dick  Prescott!” 
gloated  the  treacherous  youth. 


CHAPTER  XX 


CONCLUSION 

DICK  PRESCOTT  and  a dozen  other 
plebes  who  had  football  hopes  had  spent 
a delightful  evening  in  Lieutenant 
Pierson’s  quarters.  They  left  rather  early, 
nevertheless. 

“Come  to  my  room  and  talk  things  over, 
Anstey,”  urged  Dick.  “We’ve  time  before 
taps.” 

Dick  ran  ahead  to  turn  on  the  light  while 
Anstey  mounted  the  stairs  slowly.  As  he  en- 
tered the  room,  Prescott  could  see  from  the 
light  that  entered  from  the  corridor  some  one 
crouched  over  by  the  fireplace. 

“Have  I a visitor?”  said  Dick  pleasantly. 
“Wait  till  I get  a look  at  you.” 

To  have  run  from  the  room  would  have  been 
a confession  of  guilt.  Moreover,  Dodge  heard 
the  mounting  steps  of  Anstey  outside.  So  he 
stayed  while  Dick  turned  on  the  light. 

“It’s  Dodge!”  exclaimed  Dick.  “At  last 
accounts  you  were  in  hospital.  I’m  glad  you’re 
better,”  the  cadet  went  on  coldly. 

“I  slipped  out  of  hospital,”  whispered 
Dodge.  “Don’t  give  me  away,  Prescott.  I’d 


208  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 

like  to  get  back  without  being  seen  by  any  one 
else.” 

“What’s  up?” 

“Don’t  keep  me,”  said  Bert  nervously. 
“What  were  you  doing  in  this  room?”  asked 
Dick,  becoming  suspicious. 

“I  forgot  that  Holmes  was  away  and  came 
to  see  him.” 

“When  you  found  the  room  dark  did  you  still 
think  Greg  was  here?” 

“Don’t  keep  me  now.  You  don’t  want  to  see 
me  skinned,  do  you?” 

“What  were  you  doing  by  the  fireplace?” 
“Why — why — ” 

“Were  you  aware  that  in  days  past  plebes 
who  occupied  this  room  had  pried  up  two  of 
the  bricks  from  the  base  of  the  fireplace  and 
had  a hiding  cubby  there  ? ’ ’ 

“Of  course  not ! What  do  you  take  me  for?” 
Anstey  had  come  to  the  doorway,  but  stayed 
there,  blocking  the  passage.  Prescott  stepped 
to  the  fireplace  and  stooped  as  though  to  look 
under  the  loose  bricks.  Dodge,  in  a panic,  got 
there  before  him  and  pulled  out  some  papers. 

“I  was  trying  to  play  a prank  on  you  and 
Holmes.  As  you’ve  forestalled  it,  I don’t  think 
I’ll  let  you  know  what  it  was,”  and  Dodge 
struck  a match  and  set  the  papers  on  fire, 
throwing  them  into  the  fireplace. 


AT  WEST  POINT 


209 


“Perhaps  you  don’t  mind  letting  me  enjoy 
your  int ’resting  joke  with  you,  Mr.  Dodge,” 
drawled  Anstey,  coming  into  the  room. 

“It  wouldn’t  interest  you,  Mr.  Anstey.  Its 
foundation  lies  in  by-gone  days  back  in  Grrid- 
ley,”  floundered  Dodge. 

“At  any  rate,  your  fire  has  destroyed  the — 
ah — joke.  Will  you  assure  me,  Mr.  Dodge,  that 
the  joke  was  only  a good-natured  one?”  asked 
Dick  Prescott,  eyeing  Dodge  sternly. 

“I  assure  you  of  that  on  my  honor  as  a cadet 
and  a gentleman,”  said  Dodge  stiffly. 

“Very  well  then.  And  now  good-night.” 
The  plebe  who  had  just  perjured  himself 
turned  from  Prescott  toward  Anstey.  He  saw 
that  the  Virginian  did  not  believe  him. 

“Just  a word,  Mr.  Dodge,”  put  in  Anstey. 
“As  we  are  near  the  end  of  the  barracks  year 
I will  not  ask  for  a new  roommate.  But  when  we 
come  back  from  the  summer  encampment  I will 
see  to  it  that  my  roommate  is  some  one  else.” 
Bert  Dodge  paled,  then  flushed  crimson. 
“Am  I entitled  to  a reason  for  that,  Anstey?” 
“Mister  Anstey,  if  you  please,  now  and  al- 
ways hereafter.” 

“Certainly,  Mr.  Anstey.  May  I ask  your 
reason  for  desiring  a new  roommate?” 

“I  think  I need  not  give  my  reason,  Mr. 
Dodge,”  and  Anstey  turned  his  back. 


210  DICK  PKESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


Bert  Dodge  got  out  of  the  room  somehow 
and  made  his  way  back  to  the  hospital  ward 
through  the  hack  door.  Dick  Prescott  never 
learned  what  the  ‘ ‘ joke  ’ ’ was.  But  Dodge,  back 
in  the  hospital  bed,  muttered : 

“An  anonymous  letter  to  the  superintendent 
of  the  K.  C.  wTould  have  fixed  things  and  the 
papers  would  have  been  found!  Queer  that 
Dick  Prescott  always  comes  out  on  top.” 

It  occasionally  happens  that  an  unworthy 
cadet  leaves  West  Point  without  charges 
against  him  having  been  heard  and  passed  on 
by  the  authorities.  Each  class  in  the  United 
States  Military  Academy  is  censor  of  the  honor 
of  its  own  members.  Let  a cadet  be  found  out 
in  a lie  or  other  dishonorable  act,  and  he  is  so 
avoided  by  his  comrades  that  he  is  glad  to  leave 
the  Academy.  It  was  this  power  of  his  fellow 
cadets  that  made  Dodge  shiver  as  he  lay  sleep- 
less in  the  hospital  ward. 

Cadet  Holmes  returned  to  duty  and  was 
greeted  hilariously  by  his  many  friends.  He 
was  even  envied,  in  disregard  of  the  sad  event 
that  had  given  him  his  leave. 

“You  fellows  make  me  tired,”  grumbled 
G-reg.  “My  trip  has  convinced  me  that  I’d 
sooner  tote  the  water  bucket  at  West  Point  than 
own  a steam  yacht  and  an  automobile  any- 
where else.” 


AT  WEST  POINT 


211 


Greg’s  fellow  plebes  gave  a yell  of  approval, 
and  even  some  of  the  upper  classmen  nodded 
approvingly,  if  somewhat  haughtily. 

Hard  work  went  on;  for  these  were  anxious 
days  for  the  plebes.  Would  some  of  them  be 
dropped, at  the  end  of  this  first  year?  No  one 
felt  certain  of  his  merits,  and  all  worked  and 
studied  to  the  exclusion  of  most  other  thoughts. 
But  at  last  came  the  general  review,  then  the 
information  for  which  all  waited  was  posted. 

“I’m  satisfied,”  sighed  Dick,  after  reading 
the  lists. 

Greg’s  work,  too,  had  been  satisfactory,  as 
had  that  of  Anstey.  Bert  Dodge,  also,  had  got 
creditably  past  the  examiners.  But  eighteen 
of  the  plebes  were  dropped. 

All  the  first-class  men  passed.  So  now  came 
joyous  days  for  all  the  cadets  except  the  lowly 
plebes,  whose  only  participation  in  the  gay 
times  that  take  place  at  this  season  is  to  stand 
on  one  side  and  watch. 

But  the  night  of  the  graduation  hop  came  and 
went.  The  day  following  this  was  the  gradua- 
tion of  the  first  class. 

On  the  evening  of  this  day  Anstey  dropped 
in  to  see  Dick  and  Greg  in  their  room. 

“Hullo,  old  ramrod,  and  you,  Holmesy!  Are 
you  pondering  on  the  fact  that  you’ll  be  an 
exalted  yearling  to-morrow?” 


212  DICK  PRESCOTT’S  FIRST  YEAR 


“I  don’t  believe  the  yearling  himself  feels 
exalted — it’s  only  the  plebe  that  puts  him  on  a 
high  seat.  The  yearling  probably  looks  with 
longing  to  the  next  and  the  next  and  the  next,” 
laughed  Greg. 

“Oh,  I don’t  know.  Not  longing,”  put  in 
Dick.  ‘ ‘ I should  not  want  to  stay  here  always, 
of  course.  One  looks  forward  to  shouldering 
real  responsibilities.  But  I’m  going  to  enjoy 
every  year  as  I go  along  and  not  wish  for  the 
next  and  the  next.” 

“Just  the  same,  the  ‘next’  comes,”  replied 
Anstey  as  he  said  good-night  and  left  the  room. 

A little  later  a drum  sounded  at  the  inner 
entrance  of  the  north  sally  port.  The  subdi- 
vision inspector  was  coming — had  gone. 

“Greg,”  whispered  Cadet  Prescott, 

“Yes,  old  ramrod?” 

“To-morrow  will  be  yearling  camp  for  us!” 

What  happened  there  and  during  the  follow- 
ing year  will  be  told  in  the  next  volume,  en- 
titled “Dick  Prescott’s  Second  Year  at  West 
Point;  or,  Finding  the  Glory  of  the  Soldier’s 
Life.” 




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